


In the Trees

by breakdancingonthemoon



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Bottom Bakugou Katsuki, Character Death, Endgame BakuDeku, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Kirishima Eijirou is a Good Friend, Love Confessions, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Semi-Public Sex, Top Midoriya Izuku, Yearning, because it's tv broadcasted and they gotta pretend to be in love in order to survive, brief shinsou/bakugou content here, during the games of course, its a sad story, its soft guys but also a lot of people die, its the hunger games guys, kirishima lives with Bakugou, like spoiler but i gotta let you know so u dont cry, telling you straight up eri chan is rue in this AU, the league of villians - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2020-10-21 01:51:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 49,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20685530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakdancingonthemoon/pseuds/breakdancingonthemoon
Summary: Time seems to stand still. Bakugou closes his eyes and breathes, the stillness around him making his lungs burn and his intestines squirm. Ice picks are crawling along his skin.His eyes are still scanning the crowd, scanning the crowd, and he finds it. Tufts of messy green curls, almost too short to spot, five rowns in front of him, and he has a moment to whisper, please please please"Bakugou Katsuki."It’s never enough, is it?(Bakugou and Izuku have to pretend to be starcrossed lovers in order to win the Hunger games. The only problem? Izuku doesn't have a quirk, and Bakugou has been forced to use Quirk Inhibitors his entire life. Oh, and they haven't spoken in two years. May the odds be ever in your favor!)





	1. The Reaping

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for your comments!! I feel so loved omg!!!! The next chapter is where the good shit comes in, and again i'd just like to warn you all that this has some MAJOR character deaths in it, and graffic descriptions of violence, so be fore warned and be careful about getting into this work only to get shocked by death and gore in the incoming chapters. Please comment and subscribe! Enjoy!

Bakugou wakes up to screaming.

He bolts straight up, knife in hand, and all the breathe rushes out of him in an _ 'oof, _as an elbow is jerked into his abdomen. Boney knees and too long legs thrash under the threadbare sheets, cold sweat soaking through his old t-shirt. Someone’s shrieking next to him, voice muffled in by cloth, eyes squeezed thin and tight. 

Kirishima’s still dreaming.

"Wake up." Bakugou’s voice is hoarse, limbs still strung up too tight, heart beating in his chest. “Hey, I said wake the fuck up.” He grabs Kirishima by the shoulders and starts shaking, _ hard, _needing to get him out of whatever nightmare is plaguing him this time.

Bakugou can guess what he's dreaming about.

He stills his jerking, more out of necessity than conscious choice, as Bakugou’s holding him down against the shitty mattress. His eyes open slowly, scared one first, mouth still open as his body finally slows to a stop. Huge heaving breaths shake his hardened frame, eyes wide and staring at something from his subconscious before they finally focus on Bakugou. 

"The fuck was that, shitty hair?" Bakugou’s hands tighten where they’re gripping Kirishima’s shoulders, fingertips digging in slightly too hard if the flinch Kiri makes is anything to go by. He can feel his palms growing hot, hotter than usual. Last time he woke Kiri up like this he’d burned him something bad, the fucker forgetting to harden his skin in his panic induced state. He tries to relax his hold, but it’s fucking hard, heart still pounding, woken up at ass o’clock in the morning. “You done spazzing out yet?”

Kisishima’s eyes widen before it all seems to hit him at once, gasps turning into thick, wet sobs as his eyes twitch left and right, looking for some invisible threat from a dream. Baugou swallows.

“Calm the fuck down. Breathe.” His grip finally loosens, and Kirishima rushes to throw his arms around him as he cries, burying his face in Bakugou’s neck to try and hold in the noise. 

“You’re getting your fuckin’ snot on me, asshole.” He complains, but a dirty t-shirt isn’t nearly as bad as waking his mother up at this time of night, yet again, especially when she probably only got back from work a few hours ago. Especially on a day like today. 

“S-sorry, Kat,” his voice is thicc and watery, hardened fingers digging in too tightly to Bakugou’s back, but he’s not a little bitch. He can handle some pain. Besides, he can just rub his palms together hard enough and spark Kiri back as retribution, the tiny palm sized explosions in his fists always seem to cheer him up. Kirishima says they look like fireworks, the kinds they only ever see on TV broadcasts of the Capital. 

"Shh, s'okay, you're okay, I'm right here idiot..." Bakugou gives in to his own body’s shaking and collapses back into the shared bed, willing his palms to stop flaring up lest he burn a whole through Kiri’s shirt. He starts carding fingers stroking through ratty black hair. The fucker needs to cut it, it’s almost reaching regulation rank and if it tips over the edge the peace keepers will make him shave it _ all _off, and then the son of a bitch will cry and Bakugou will have to fucking cheer him up. Bakugou’s chest hurts, strung tight and empty. “I fuckn’ told you not to drink caffeine before bed, you know that shit fucks you up.”

Light begins to filter through the window.

Kirishima settles down, sobs becoming whimpers becoming sniffles. Bakugou lets him dig his hardened fingers into his back, even though it’s starting to sting like a motherfukcer, and just keeps detangling his hair with his fingers. Kirishima’s quirk finally relaxes, and calloused hands pull him tighter. Bakugou shifts slightly until he can place his chin on top of black hair. 

"I'm s-sorry. God, that’s so unmanly." Kirishima mutters, trying to fit his long ass legs more comfortably next to Bakugou. He’d been bulking up a little bit since coming to stay with Bakugou and his mom, and it was honestly doing him good. Not just a tiny, skinny, malnourished kid but someone who could actually put on a bit of muscle, especially since he’d started going out into the woods with Bakugou to hunt. They probably wouldn't be able to fit in the same bed at all by next year.

"What’s? Crying? Don't worry, I know how emotional your period makes you." That earns him a half hearted punch on the shoulder. He punches back, makes Kirishima wine.

"They picked my name." His face is still buried in the crook of his neck, so he can’t see Bakugou’s expression.

He doesn’t want to see what kind of face he’s making either.

"Don’t be a fucking idiot.” Hundreds of names were entered this year, every kid in district twelve, 12-18, and most've 'em were in there twice. So what Kirishima’s name was in there five times? So what Bakugou was in there 24 times? You do what you gotta do to survive and then you get the fuck out. “It was a dream, shitty hair. What are you, five?”

Kirishima snuffles and wipes his head against Bakugou's shirt. 

"Dude, gross! Get your fucking snot away from me!" He shoves him away roughly, but Kiri laughs wetly and digs his fingers into the fabric of his chest, head keeps burrowing. Bakugou’s protests fall on deaf ears.

"Hey, bro." He could still make his voice so small, so trusting, when he wanted to. Typically he was all sunshine and rainbows and manliness, positivity in a bleak wilderness that had tried it’s hardest to beat the kindness out of him, but he always bounced back. That voice, though. He used that voice to get away with an insane amount of shit that Bakugou would never admit to. But he wasn't faking it this time.

"What do we do if we get picked?" 

Bakugou was entered twenty-four times this year.

"Hey, you need to take a bath, like, yesterday, asshole. You smell like shit." That earned another laugh, shark teeth grinning against a solid chest. "And I swear to god, if you use up all the warm water I'm skinning you alive."

"Awwww, do we have to get up now? It’s still early!" Arms tightened around Bakugou's back, obviously stalling for time, trying to drag this out. Because as soon as they left the warmth of their bed, it’s gonna hit them like a ton of bricks.

Twenty four times.

"You’re the one that fucking woke me up." Bakugou growled, hands still stroking over the knotted strands. Kirishima wiggled closer.

“If you’re not up in five minutes, I’m shaving your head.”

"Don't you dare."

"Wanna test me, bitch?"

"Stop it."

"You only brush it like twice a year, anyway-"

_ "Katsukiiiiiii!" _ Bakugou laughed, a harsh cackle that most people thought reminded them of a witch from those old fairy tales that they weren’t allowed to read anymore but had kept passing down by word of mouth.

"Maybe we can sleep for, like, ten more minutes."

“Thanks bro. You’re the best.”

“Fuck off.”

They stayed like that, growing bodies nestled too close on their too small bed, in their too small room, in their too small house, and tried to get some fucking sleep.

\-------------------------------------

Sometimes Bakugou wonders what his quirk would’ve looked like, _ really _looked like, if it ever had the chance to grow past what he manifested at 4. Wonders how different life could’ve been without the quirk inhibitors all denizens were required to use at all times. He’s seen what some of those people in the capital could do with their quirks, heal broken bones and freeze ice and speak to animals. The last time someone from District twelve tried to go off thier inhibitors, he’d been strung up in the town square for everyone to see. The only way Bakugou would ever be able to see the full extent of his power was if he won the games. All the Game participants went off the inhibitors and allowed for the 3 week training time it took for the drugs to completely leave their system before the Games officially began. It made the gladiatorial fights into a blood bath of out of control power. Kirishima’s hero, a Victor from District 11 known as Crimson Riot, could harden the spike of his hair to a point and use it like a battering ram. He’d thought it was just like his own skin hardening. Crimson was allowed to develop his quirk as a Victor. If they were allowed to, Kirishima would’ve dyed his hair bright red like some people in the capitol did, if he had the money for the dye, if it didn’t break dress code.

He’d shown up to school one day a few years ago with his back hair spiked up, and their classmates had been amazed by it. He’d made his own gel like substance out of medical vaseline and school glue, had experimented with it and managed to get his hand stuck to his head for three hours while Bakugou laughed his ass off before finally getting it right. He told everyone he wanted to look like Crimson, the Victor, his hero.

The teacher shaved his head in front of a gathering of the entire school, as an example. He’d cried and cried and cried that night until he was so exhausted he passed out, eyes puffy and the little hair he had left in black gelled tufts on top of his head.

Bakugou had punched a hole through the wall and broken two fingers in the process. For once, his mother didn’t scold him for it.

The Kirishimas were killed in a coal accident during their second year of middle school, along with Bakugou’s father. His mom spent two weeks staring at the wall. She didn’t cry, didn’t scream, didn’t speak once. Things like boy's homes and social services existed in places like District two, where they had the finances and structure to take care of their people. District 12 had nobody. Eijirou had been left to die.

It was a no brainer: Either Bakugou put his name in a couple extra times and risk the games, or watch his only friend starve.

Not a difficult choice to make.

When she finally snapped out of it, his mom applied for a job at the mine and officially took Eijirou in, even though he’d been sleeping in Bakugou’s bed for nearly a month at that point anyway. She forced them to go back to school and she set up an altar for Ei’s parents next to the one of Masura. Bakugou lit the candles on all three everyday after classes.

When he was fourteen, he started going into the woods alone, for the first time, hunting squirrels with the sling shot mom gave him when he was six. He used to hunt with her, trap and fish, sell the game downtown, but it was different now. Mom was working everyday in the sweat and heat of the mines and he was on his own. It was harder. He once got lost amidst the trees for two days, stumbling back home to find Kirishima crying in an empty bathtub and Bakugou’s mother zoning out again. 

He didn’t blame her. He didn’t. He zoned out sometimes, too. Kirishima said they were panic attacks and dissociation and a bunch of other bullshit terms he didn’t give a shit about. They fell into a routine; Bakugou would study, he and Kirishima would hunt, Mom would work, and after school they'd sell squirrels downtown where the peacekeepers turned a blind eye. Every few months, when times got bad, Bakugou would secretly enter his name an extra time. 

And they survived.

He wouldn’t exactly call it happiness. Not contentment.

He fucking tried. He tried. But it would never be enough.

Bakugou used to look up at the stars at night and think about the stories his father would tell, about heroes and adventures and a world where everyone could use their quirk to the fullness of their capabilities. Where the paintings his parents made together wouldn’t just be a hobby, scrambled together with hand made paint, but something to share with everyone. Where Kirishima could dye his fucking hair and style it however he wanted and maybe even harden his entire body, maybe be able to be like Crimson Riot. Where the Quirkless weren’t left to die on the outskirts of the woods for fear that letting them live would incite nothing but misery and poverty and pain. There was so much more out there in the world beyond the woods and he yearned to see it.

There were days when he'd walk down the alley to peacekeeper Hawk's house and walk out with coins in his pocket and bile in his mouth, fist fights in alleyways and bloody noses and broken wrists. There were whispers. Some were just outright stupid, revolting, Bakugou's reputation of having a mouth and knowing how to use it blending beautifully with an idea of a mysterious loner, a bad boy, with pretty looks that his mother from the Town gave him before getting knocked up by a coal miner and leaving it all behind.

The people of District 12 are, as most outlying districts, usually covered in a layer of dust and dirt. Baths are a waste of clean water when you're just gonna get dirty again the next day. It's really only the wealthier people from town that bother stay sparkling.

Also, the water is fucking cold.

"God_ damnit, _Ei, stop fucking moving!" 

“Stop _ scrubbing _so hard!” Kiri's pointy chatter as he slips the soap up and down his arms. Bakugou snarls and digs his nails deeper into Kiri's scalp, making him yelp and splash the freezing water, letting it run out the sides of the wooden tub. Bakugou's shirt is soaked, sleeves rolled up as he tries to untangle the mess of hair in front of him.

"Maybe I should just shave it all off, we could sell it to the fabric shop down the road-"

Bakugou feels strong hands grab his arms, and suddenly he’s being dragged face-first into the icey bathtub.

He comes up sputtering, (_ "DIE, SHITTY HAIR!") _ and Kirishima’s laughing till tears sting his eyes, the small wooden tub groaning in protest as the two boys splash water at eachother.

"Bro, bro the tub's gonna break-"

"I'm gonna break your fat fucking _ face-" _

His sleeping clothes are soaked through and his finger tips feel numb, yanking that knotted head down into a headlock while Kirishima laughs like the idiot he is. His fingers slip through soap laden hair, Kiri’s cheeks pink and pinched tight from smiling too big. Bakugou finally grumbles and lets go, snatching the soap and scrubbing some through his hair because _ he's here anyway, might as well get something done. _ Kirishima grins and sticks one long ass leg out the side to make some room.

"Why do we have to get all dressed up for the reaping?"

"Because it’s dress code idiot.”

“Yeah, but _ why _is it dress code?”

“I don’t fucking know! If your name gets called, you might as well go out in style.” Bakugou thrusts the soap bar over and strips out of his soaked shirt, splashing some water into his face with cupped hands."If you show up looking anything less than impeccable, they send your ass to the hanging tree."

Sam snorted. "Impeccable isn’t a word dude."

“You’re an idiot.” _ Splash. _"I can’t believe you haven't failed out of highschool yet."

They scrub in silence for a while, Bakugou reaching for the towel on the hook when Kirishima’s voice perks up again. "Why do we have to watch it?"

"Becuase we fucking do."

“...what happens if a Quirkless gets chosen?”

“...who gives a shit.”

Kirishima stares down at the water. “You do, Katsuki.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“His name is in there nearly sixty times, dude-”

"_ Shut up, Kirishima." _

Kirishima looks up, dropping out of whatever far away thoughts had been consuming him.

"That's what they're doing to us, isn't it?” Quiet voice again. He looks like a wet dog, limp black hair blocking his face, posture so insecure. “The peace keepers dress us up, and put us all in the best part of the district, and video tape it all for the Capitol to see what perfect lives we live. Quirkless or Inhibited. Always fighting against eachother" He picks his hand up, watches as the water cascades back down. Does it again. “Every year we’re out there, you’re standing right next to me. And your eyes are always glued on him, like you’re just waiting for him to get picked.”

Bakugou bites his tongue, _ hard. _

"Finish up, we need to detangle that fucking rats nest on your head." He stands up suddenly, water sloshing over the edges. Mom’s gonna have a fit when she sees the mess, but he can’t be assed to care right now. If he makes it through the reaping she can yell at him all she fucking wants.

"Kat-"

"Fucking hurry up, asshole."

He walks back into the bedroom to see the clothes his mom had lain out for him when she got back from work that night.

The least dusty jeans, the hole-less socks, the only nice button down shirt he owned.

Bakugou scrubbed a hand down his face, eyebrows pinched tight. 

Twenty four times.

There were five little white stripes of paper at the bottom of that bowl with the words _ Kirishima Eijirou _printed out in pretty black ink.

Sixty fucking times.

There’s never an end, is there?

Not until they both turn 18.

\----------------------------------

Mina is dressed in a beautiful white dress, standing in stark contrast to her pink skin and horns. Physical mutations were some of the only quirks the inhibitors couldn’t control, and a such Mina stayed pink after she turned pink at 4. She’s forced to dye her hair black, though, to at least keep with the dress code as much as possible. There are skin dyes from the capitol that people there wear for fashion, but there’s no way in hell they would ever show up somewhere like here. She doesn’t run up to them like usual, chipper and smiling if a bit tired, but walks as steadily and calmly as she can. If you run n reaping day you get fucking shot, everybody knows that. He still remembers those kids from District 11, last years Victor with the quirk that let him pass through walls and shit, and his friend with the fucking tentacles that got killed for trying to make a break for it. Fucking idiot. He was turning 18 anyway, and because he got shot they had to pick another name and send that blonde fucker off to die. He didn’t bother to learn their names. He never does. They all die in the end anyway.

Twenty four.

His fists turn hot and he has to clench them to keep them from going off. Another good way to get fucking shot.

She smiles brightly, hands clasped behind her back. “Hello boys.”

“Pinkie pie.” He grunts, squinting up at the big screen in the square while Kirishima and Mina hug too tight and try not to cry, the way they do every year. They’d already run into Kaminari and Sero before hand, had to watch the whole waterworks fest, had to fix Kirishima’s fucking hair again before dragging him off. Mina eventually lets Kirishima go to yank Bakugou into a bone cracking hug. 

“Fucking let go, raccoon eyes!” He yells, shiving a too hot hand in her face, but she just laughs and drags him closer, his breathe leaving him in a long _ woosh. _He wonders what her quirk would’ve been if it wasn’t for the inhibitors, since beyond her mutation she never officially developed one. It might’ve been annoying ass bone crushing strength of some shit. Fuck, he thinks his ribs might be bruised.

“Awe, love you too!” She smiles, but her eyes look cold. Far away. “Don’t fuck up, Kat.”

“You too, shit head.” 

He hesitates, before pressing a kiss to the top of her curls and shoving her away.

The other kids have started lining up. His throat feels dry.

She’s only his friend because of Shitty hair. That’s true for all of them, Electro Bugaloo and Tape Face. He’s the one that introduced them, that convinced them to give him a chance, that broke through his layers and burrowed himself deep down where no one’s ever gotten to before and now he can’t fucking pull him back out, pull any of them out.

There’s never an end, is there? Not ‘till they turn 18.

That’s what you get for caring. It’s a fucking weakness in this world. Shit heads like Kirishima get soft and get him soft and then before they know it, he’s gonna find him bruised and bloody in some back alleyway and have to bury him beside his father.

They get in there places, shoulder to shoulder, squeezed between hundreds of other boys in their age category. Kaminari and Sero are ahead of them, the top of Sero’s dumbass tallass head sticking up amongst the other fifteen year olds. 

He tries not to look around, he really does. 

He always finds him in the crowd eventually.

He startles, looking down to see Kirishima gripping his hand in a vicelike grip, fingers hardened. The skin touching his is beginning to turn purple.

“I love you.” Kirishima says. Just like he always says before the reaping. Deadpan, looking straight ahead, determined set of his fearless jaw. It still makes his heart freeze up, stutter and expand and hurt like a motherfucker.

“Just stand here until it’s over and then we can go home.” He says in reply. Doesn’t squeeze back. Doesn’t need to.

“I know, bro. This isn't my first reaping." Kirishima doesn’t smile. He’s shaking slightly.

Bakugou swallows. He wants to reach out and crush him against his chest, fold him up tight between his ribcage and keep him safe from this, wants to run home and leap into his mother’s arms and let her rock him again like she used to do. 

But running gets you fucking shot.

His pulse is jumping wild with the possibility that this year, this time, one of the twenty four slips of paper with his name are gonna end up in Midnight’s hand and he'll be walking onto that stage and never coming back down.

“Let’s make curry for dinner.” He says.

Kirishima’s foot starts tapping. Bakugou steps on it to make him stop.

"Promise?"

“Promise.”

"Hellooooooooooooooooooooo District Twelve, and Happy Hunger Games!!" A cheery tone pipes out of the tall brunette on stage, Capitol glitter streaking over cherry cheeks in brimstone red. "It's so nice to see all your smiling faces again!"

Grim silence follows her tittering.

"Today marks the reaping of the 74th annual Hunger Games!" Her bright eyes flash across the crowd, glasses shining, connecting with parents pushed to the edge and children crammed into the roped off area's closest to the center. "And let me just say, I have _ such _high hopes for this year!" She kick’s a foot up in a gesture that’s supposed to be cute. Bakugou thinks she looks like a fucking idiot. 

There's a few minutes of footage explaining why the twenty four tributes are necessary to keep peace between the Capitol and the districts, why President All For One shows such mercy, blah blah fuking blah. It’s the same shit every year. The longer the video lasts, the more panic sets in between Bakugou's shoulder blades. He keeps his back straight and his chin up high, just like his mom told him to, but his heart is trying to crawl up out of his throat.

Midnight say's something she apparently thinks is funny, looking at Aizawa, the only living winner from twelve, up on stage, before chuckling at her own joke in the face of his blank expression. She clears her throat and goes for a smile instead. "Well, we'd better hop to it! Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Bakugou’s breathing stops.

Her hand is in the bowl.

He squeezes back on Kirishima’s fingers.

A single piece of paper is extracted, held delicately between her bejewel gloved fingers, as red as the paint on her lips and the glitter in her raven hair.

Time seems to stand still. Bakugou closes his eyes and breathes, the stillness around him making his lungs burn and his intestines squirm. Ice picks are crawling along his skin.

His eyes are still scanning the crowd, scanning the crowd, and he finds it. Tufts of messy green curls, almost too short to spot, five rowns in front of him, and he has a moment to whisper, _ please please please _

"Bakugou Katsuki."

It’s never enough, is it?

\---------------------------------

Kirishima’s family didn't own a refrigerator.

The amount of money it'd cost to keep it running was suicidal, electricity bill skyrocketing with the costs of his mothers medication. They kept their food safe by salting it, pickling it, sticking it outside at night so that it'd stay cool. In the winter, Bakugou’s dad used to help them cut up the river beyond the fence and sell the ice blocks, save a few for themselves. Now that his parents are gone, Kirishima still sells the ice blocks, lugging them back through the fence because he doesn’t want to risk Mina getting caught back there, and they take them into town to sell.

Last year, when the frost got thick and the air got dry, Bakugou’s mom brought home cocoa powder. Kirishima scream laughed and wouldn't stop hugging her and Bakugou’s eyes got wide and Kiri felt his chest expand in that oh-shit way it does when he's feeling too much all at once. She didn't tell them where she got the cocoa, didn't say how she got the extra money for it, and they were both too excited grabbing chipped mugs and boiling water for them to notice.

They'd traded some raccoon tails for the cheap ceramic dishes Mina’s family sold in Town that day, and they were still wrapped up in brown paper on the ice blocks outside. Kirishima wasn't book smart, didn't know what would happen if you added boiling water to frozen glass, and at the first splash of hot cocoa in his mug, it shattered.

"Bakugou Katsuki? Come up on stage now, don't be shy!"

The hot liquid burned his hands, sharp shards scattered all over the floor and sticking into his feet when he stumbled back, trailing blood behind him in messy footprints.

Mitsuki didn't even complain about wasting the special treat. She just patched him up, and Bakugou shared his cup, and they curled around him on their shitty sofa to watch the snow fall outside.

"No," Kirishima breathes, reflexive, kind of disbelieving. "No, nonononono."

He tightens his grip, even though the nitroglycerin from Katsuki’s hands are beginning to burn him and he can hear the snap crackle pop against his hardened flesh but it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, oh my god, oh my god.

Bakugou lets go of his hand.

He’s is walking up the aisle, back of his shirt untucked, Back straight and proud, blonde hair spiking around him like a crown as he marches. Kirishima feels numb. Every single nerve in his body is screaming, burning, racing too fast as he processes the information going in one ear and lodging behind his corneas. His too loud, too angry, too kind best friend is walking past him to stand on the stage that will take him away.

And it makes him feel sick. So, so sick. Kirishima's stomach roils and for a split moment, he's sure he's going to throw up. He swallows fast, breathing in heavily through his nose. In, out, in, out. Kirishima digs his dirty fingernails into his palms as his vision swims before him, remembers Bakugou telling him to fix his fucking nails befoe they leave. Breathe in, out, in, out.

Just stand there until it’s over and we can go home.

He feels his mouth opening, his body in motion, and he already knows what he’s about to do before a voice is suddenly screaming out five rows in front of him.

“_ KACCHAN!” _

\---------------------------------------

Izuku remembers every time Kacchan has ever gotten scared. 

The time when there was a spider in the house and Kacchan tried to use his quirk to get rid of it but he accidentally set the curtains on fire instead.

When the peacekeepers got drunk and started following them down the street after school.

When he got separated from his dad in the forest beyond the fence for three hours and came home shaking.

Kacchan never told him. He was too proud for that, would get angry if anyone even mentioned the thought to him. But Izuku always new. It was the set of his eyes, the way the anger in hisn face would morphe into a perfect calm while his eyes stayed wide.

Kacchan’s back is straight, head held high, and he looks terrified.

A pang of terror rips through Izuku’s stomach and his vision blurrs.

_ "KACCHAN!" _ He screams, and flings himself through the crowd of fifteens into the aisle to get to him.

How is this happening? Why is this happening? His feet are moving and he can’t think and god, Kacchan would be so mad, he’s always told him never to run, if you run you get _ shot- _

"Deku-" Kacchan looks behind him, eyes so wide, before Izuku’ crushing weight engulfs him, gripped him tighttighttight in his heaving arms as if that'd keep him there, and the Gamemakers' guards are already opening the little enclosure's cord and pushing their way through the crowd towards them.

"NO!" Izuku grips him tighter, oh god, oh no, oh _ please why oh why this wasn’t fair it wasn’t fair, _ and he expected Kacchan to push him away, he really did, but instead burning hot hands are cradling the back of his skull, Kacchan instinctively leaning down and folding in on top of him, shielding him from the bullets he thinks are coming.

Izuku cannot feel his own body.

He clutches harder at Kacchan’s shirt too tightly, god he’s gonna puke all over him and Kacchan’s gonna yell at him for it, and he can’t let go and the peacekeepers are coming, god not this way, not like this. 

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING YOU SHITTY NERD?” He’s screaming into his ear, but his hands are still wrapped around him, cradling over him. They're pressed together, and this couldn't be real, it wasn't fair and the world couldn't let this happen, please, please no.

_ Kacchan is only fifteen. _

"Deku, fucking let go." Kacchan’s voice comes out like grit, between clenched teeth, shaky and hard and trying to keep his cool out but he's fighting to keep it steady. Izuku feels half-dead. "Let me the fuck go, _ now, _they’re fucking coming you useless idiot-"

"No," Izuku growls, and wow he never thought that voice could come out of himself, and there are peacekeepers dragging them apart now, tearing Kacchan's hands out of Izuku’s hair, ripping them away until the overpowering warmth of Kacchan’s palms is replaced by icy cold clarity.

"I volunteer."

The murmurs of the crowd abruptly stops.

"What?" There’s a hand keeping Izuku still, pressure on his chest, and Kacchan wasn’t struggling against the peacekeepers before, but now he is. Now he is. "You fucking _ what _?"

"I volunteer!" Izuku yells. "I volunteer as Tribute!"


	2. I Volenteer

"FUCK NO!" Kacchan screams.

He breaks free of the grip on his upper arm and is back in Izuku's face, fists smoking where they bunch into the fabric of his grey button down. Izuku doesn't even wince when his hands start popping with uncontrolable tiny explosions. Typically Kacchan can only create them when he's rubbing his hands together, but this is different. They always go off when he's not in complete control of his emotions.

"He fucking takes it back!" Kacchan screams behind him, in the general direction of the stage, before knocking his forehead hard against Izuku's scull, making him wince. Kacchan's lips curled back over his teeth in a blood curdling snarl. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, you shitty nerd."

"S-saving you." Izuku sqeaks out, overwhelmed, heart hammering. "You can't go in there, Kacchan, you can't-"

"Who the hell asked you to save me, hah!? Do you think I'm fucking weak? Is that it? That I won't last a day but somehow a quirkless nobody like you might-"

"Stop being stubborn for once in your life!" Izuku screams out, trying to choke back the tremor in his voice, hands tightening around Kacchan's wrist where it's still clinging to his shirt. "Just let me do this for you!"

"You'll die, you idiot!" He turns frantically to look at the stage, where Midnight's staring in unmasked glee, Aizawa's face hidden in his scarf. "He's quirkless, he can't! Tell him he can't!"

"Well, the rules don't say anything about a Quirkless being unable to volenteer," Midnight hms thoughtfully, delicate hand resting on a popped out hip. "He's eligible for the games, isn't he?" 

Kacchan growls "Yeah, but-"

"Then it's decided! What's your name, young man? Was it 'Deku'?"

He hears a woman start screaming, and tears leak from his eyes. His mother. God, what's she going to do without him?

"N-no," He hasn't stammered like this in years. His throat hurts. "It's Izuku. Izuku Midoriya."

"Awe, a childhood nickname, is it?" Midnight coos. There's a soft murmer beginning to break through the crowd, questioning and confused. The people in the back can't hear Kacchan's shouting, only Midnight through the microphone.

It takes everything in him to shove Kacchan's hands away and try to get to the dais, like he'd seen the chosen Tributes do every year (some by walking, some by being dragged, but they always got there), except Kacchan grips the back of his shirt and tugs harder than Izuku realizes, he should've remembered how rough Kacchan could get. It makes him stumble backwards and crash into his his arms.

"Don't you fucking dare," he growls, and his voice sounds gutted and rough in Izuku's ear. "You can't do this, you can't --"

"Lemme go, Kacchan--"

"He can't!" Kacchan screams, fury lacing his throat.

"Kacchan, let go !" Izuku feels Kacchan's grip tighten around him, one arm around his waist and the other spanning across his chest, palms popping. Like fireworks, the kinds they used to watch on TV when they were in elementary school.

"Dammnit, Deku." His voice sounds shot, grip tight and commanding, as though he really thinks he has a chance of stopping Izuku from doing this, from saving his life.

"Well, then we have our first Tribute of the year!" Midnight calls out, clapping. The sound rings across the empty square, sharp and jarring. A few scattered aplause ring out from the peacekeepers.

Kacchan's pressed behind him shaking his head, no no nononono a chant of denial, and the guards decide to step in again. They tear him away from Kacchan immediately, methodical and without pity, and propel him forward with so much force he stumbles and nearly face-plants into the dirty cobblestones.

"COME BACK HERE YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, LET ME GO SHITTY HAIR-" Kacchan's voice is abruptly muffled, and he can hear the indignant screams behind Kirishima's hand on his mouth, but Izuku can't look back, he just can't.

"Well, congratulations, Izuku Midoriya! You are the first Tribute of this year's Hunger Games!"

There's the applause again, sounding hollow in Izuku's ears as he climbs the few steps up to where Midnight stands without acknowledgment. He knows some of the denizens in the crowd, of course; the whole District showed up for the Reaping, they have to, the only way out of the event is if you're dead or dying. Kaminari, looking thunderstruck. Sero, staring at him as though he was already dead. Inside the roped-off area a few of Izuku's old classmates were gaping in disbelief. (His mother is crying. Mina is shocked.)

Behind him, Aizawa coughs.

"Aw, is that Katsuki- or, should I say, Kacchan, your friend?" Midnight asks, and her tone is smuldering, sticky honey smothered in barbed wire.

Izuku can't help a glance in Kacchan's direction, and he realizes it's taken three of the guards to restrain Izuku, his hands cuffed together behind him, Kirishima's skin hardened as it ever gets and trying to reason with the peacekeepers. One of them has gagged him with a black scarf in order to keep him quiet. Izuku's chest is aching, pounding ticking-death terrified, but this is... this is okay. Kacchan is safe, that's all that mattered. He would be safe and alive and Izuku could die happy, knowing that.

"Yeah." He clears his throat, tries to unstick his tounge from the roof of his mouth. Kacchan is still fighting. "Yeah, he's my friend." 

"How delightful! Couldn't have him stealing all the glory, now could we?" Izuku knows he's crying but he doesn't care, just tries to keep the noise in while all the cameras are on his face. 

Kacchan's quirk is beautiful.

It's incredible, powerful, even with the quirk inhibitors he takes, and he's still so strong without it. Not like Izuku. He doesn't even have a quirk, much less the strength to kill someone in the Games. He's expendable, has been told that his whole life. His name would've been picked out eventually, considering how many extra times he's entered it for extra food for people who need it. 

Kacchan's safe. He's safe, and he can keep protecting Kirishima and keep bringing food from the woods and keep everybody safe.

Aizawa leans forward in his chair.

"I think we have our first ever volunteer from District Twelve!" Izuku's shoulders tense. "Let's see who your competition is, kid!"

Midnight plunges her spandax clad arm in deep, blood red nails fishing through the bottom of the clear glass bowl for the next unlucky somebody to die in the arena. 

"The second contestant is..."

Izuku squeezes his eyes tight and hopes with all his heart that it won't be somebody he knows.

"I FUCKING VOLENTEER YOU BITCH!"

His eyes snap open.

Kacchan is already shooting across the aisle, Kirishima on his heels, hands cuffed behind him and adding little sparks to boost him along. The black cloth that was in his mouth was evidently torn by his grinding teeth, if the remnants around his throat are anything to go by.

"It appears we have a rather exciting situation on our hands!" She glances at Izuku, hot pink sparkles framing her glasses, twinkles in her eyes.

No.

Izuku can here Kirishima screaming in the foreground, clinging desperately to a the back of Kacchan's shirt before he's shoved off, hard, falling to the ground as Kacchan marches up the staircase. The whispers steadily growing to a buzz of talk that fills Izuku's throat with vomit because this is not real.

"No, he's not allowed to-he can't do that-"

Midnight winks at him. "Technically, he can. If a quirkless can volenteer, I think a boy woth a spark that hot can throw his name in the ring for glory!" She crumples the unread paper in her hands, tossing it cutely over her shoulder. 

This is not real.

Kacchan's standing next to him on the stage, shoulders hunched, haunches raised, murder in his eyes. There's blood dripping down from a cut on his forehead, blonde hair wild and dangerous. He looks every bit like the tributes on TV, the Victors that wipe blood from thier teeth in the final battle. 

Kacchan always wins. Always has, always will.

"What the hell do you think you're doing." Izuku hisses, furious at Kacchan, at himself, at Midnight, at the world.

"Saving your life, dipshit." Kacchan growls.

"We are proud to present," Midnight bellows into the mic, "The tributes of District 12!"


	3. Highway to Hell

Kamimari won't let go of him, and for probably the first time, Bakugou is holding on just as tight.

"You c-can't die D-dude, you can't, w-who's gonna teach me calculus, a-and prank the peace keepers, and give me free racoon meat-"

"I never give you shit for free, you just never fuckin' pay me."

"Bakubro," His voice is smaller than his waist, ribs digging into Bakugou's torso. Sero still hasn't said anything, just clinging to Bakilugou's back, lanky arms squeezing tight as they can. The tape on his elbows has started to dispend a bit, the only sign of how upset he really is, considering he's got the best control over his quirk out of all of them. 

"What're we gonna do?" Kami whispers.

"You're gonna have to do your own fuckin' laundry for once," Bakugou snaps.

Kaminari's laughter is drowned out by a choking noise that makes Bakugou's stomach drop.

He finally leans away, snot running down his nose the way it does when he fries out with his quirk. He can charge electronics and that's about it, but it still takes a lot out of him. His eyes are as sharp as the bones in his wrist, and just as visible.

"What're we gonna do without you?" He whispers.

Bakugou snorts. "If I die, Elbows gets my knives. I don't trust your sorry ass with 'em."

"Don't want 'em." Sero mumbles, still clinging to his back.

Kaminari's face just twitches with exhaustion. "Last time you gave Sero a knife he cut off his pinkie toe."

"Eh, serves him right for being an idiot."

Kaminari snorts, eyes crinkling at the corners. "How the hell can you joke at a time like this?"

"Stop being a little shit and I'll stop calling you out on it." 

Bakugou is trembling. His legs feel like rubber and his arms are numb.

They send in Kirishima and his mother next.

Kirishima crashes into him one last time, with a desperate squeeze that Bakugou refuses to call a goodbye.

"I love you."

"Fuck off."

The guard is getting impatient, hovering over them in the open doorway where Bakugou can see Mina consoling a sobbing Sero.

"You're so fucking stupid."

"Fuck off, shitty hair."

"Why would you do that? He volunteered for you, he was gonna go in your place, you're so fucking stupid-" Kirishima sobs wetly.

Bakugou leans down and buries his nose in his shitty black hair.

"...you have to win." He whispers.

Bakugou looks up at his mother. Blonde hair, red eyes, hard lines. Her expression is stoney, expectant, like she's been holding her breath and waiting for this to happen from the moment her child was born.

"Who says I won't?" He growls back, eyes locked on his mom.

Her jaw clicks.

"When you get in there," she says, voice cold, "You run. You do not think of the other tributes as human. You think of them as game. And you hunt them."

Bakugou nods slightly.

"Avoid the fucking cornucopia. Find a source of water, stay hidden. I know you'll want to fight." She stares him down. "If you fight, you will lose."

Kirishima holds him tightly, shaking.

"If anyone follows you," she hisses, "kill them."

He knows exactly who she's referring to.

\-----------

The vultures finally swoop in as they're getting on the train.

Capitol purples and fiery pinks are hurting Izuku's eyes, still red from sobbing with his mother, with their glaring, pompous pop. The peacekeepers keep the reporters at bay, but the cameras are flashing and Izuku glances over to find Bakugou hunched and haunting, jaw clenched tight with blood stains still tracking into the dirt on his face.

They still haven't said a single word to each other.

The tabloid journalists with their feathery yellow pens and bedazzled eyebrows are screaming their questions, cruel words beating against the side of his brain with a hammer.

"Izuku Midoriya, tell us about your parents! Why didn't we see your father at the reaping?"

"Bakugou, why would you volunteer when your childhood friend already volunteered in your place?"

"Boys, how do you feel knowing that only one of you can be crowned Victor of the Hunger Games?"

Izuku's eyes are squeezed too tight against his skull with the apathy in their bubbling voices.

When the train doors are sealed shut behind them, the noise abruptly stops.

"...Damn." Bakugou breathes.

Izuku has never been on a train. The only people allowed to leave the district are the peacekeepers and the capital reporters. The coal is shipped out with workers from the district that runs the cable cars. The only way you'd ever get to see a train, or the grass of another city, would be if you got yourself reaped.

But...trains are amazing. 

He feels the lurch under his feet as they start moving, but his focus is reserved for the giant glass chandelier hanging over their heads.

"How much you wanna bet that this hallway is bigger than my entire house?" Kacchan walks up to the ornate table covered in pastry's he's only seen pictures of, the poor imitations in Izuku's mothers bakery not holding a candle to the delicacies. Izuku can smell their sweetness from here. His stomach twists. 

"Kacchan-" Izuku is reaching forward, small hands shaking with something other than the ill-adjustment to the trains movements.

“Don’t.” Kacchan’s back is to him, shoulders hunched high. 

"HELLO BOYS!" Izuku snatches his hand back as Midnight's cherry sweet voice echoes out into the room. 

Izuku stares as the doors slide shut on their own. He knew all about the capitol's technology, had seen it enough times in the games on TV, studied it in school, but the door just closed on it's _own_.

"My my, what an exciting turn of events! I can see the headlines now: 'The Volunteers of District Twelve' are going to be the talk of the games!" Her smile falters as she gets closer, nose wrinkling slightly. Izuku can see Bakugou grinding his teeth. "Well, we're going have to get you boys some nicer clothes before we arrive. Not to mention a bath. How long has that grime been underneath your fingernails?" She grabs at Kacchan’s hand, barely flinching when they pop and sizzle.

“Let go of me, hag!” Kacchan tries to rip his arm back, but she just giggles and starts pushing back at the cuticles.

Izuku quietly says, "Don't touch him."

Midnight's eyes widen and she actually coos. "Oh how sweet, friends watching out for each other!" Her fingers tighten on Kacchan’s bicep.

“He’s not my fucking friend,” Kacchan growls.

"Get your hands off of him." Izuku’s not sure what his face looks like right now, but whatever she sees wipes her grin right off. 

Midnights gorgeous eyes narrow, and she drops his hand with a little _hmph_. "They warned me that you district kids were antisocial, but I never expected you to be this rude. Especially such a baby faced little boy like you!” She leans forward and pinches one of his cheeks with her manicured hand, making him whine in discomfort. “We'll have to take a few classes on proper etiquette once we get back home if either of you have any chance at getting sponsors."

"Home? You mean the Capitol?" Kacchan's teeth ache from how tightly he's clenching them. "You dumb fuck. We’re on our way to hell."

She raises an eyebrow and lets out a full bellied laugh. "Etiquette, Kacchan. You districts have such an odd little vocabulary. Aizawa calls the Capitol "hell" too. One of these days you boys are going to have to tell me what it means." There's a whooshing sound that draws all eyes to the door, and Izuku can't stop the intake of breathe as it slides open on it's own. He needs to figure out how that works.

A haggard looking man with a long dirty scarf wrapped around his neck and shoulders walks in, scraggly, greasy hair hiding his face. Aizawa barely ever comes back here. The only time he’s ever seen him was while he was up on stage at the reaping.

He gives them a cursory look over, and promptly rolls his eyes.

“I give you both five minutes, tops.

\----------------------------------------------------

It starts out a little rough.

Midnight excuses herself once the plates start flying, panic finally setting into Izuku's bones at the realization that they were on a train, heading to the capitol, _oh my god Kacchan we're gonna die,_ Kacchan screaming and letting his quirk set the drapes on fire. He was panicking too, and because he didn't want Izuku to see him panic he got angry like he always did, and Izuku stopped crying long enough to rip a portrait of President All for One off the wall and smash it against the window. Aizawa just stared blankly the entire time, looking like he was on the verge of falling asleep. Izuku's leg punched through a wall and Kacchan chucked one of the plush love seats across the room. Somehow Aizawa got caught in the face with a pie and went down hard, knocking into the pastry laden table and taking the whole shebang down with him. 

That was apparently the last straw.

Aizawa gets up slowly, turns to Kaccan, and opens his eyes in a piercing glare.

Kacchan’s fists stop popping.

“Now, are you going to behave like animals, or can we sit down and have an actual conversation about how to survive the Games?” His hair is all up, spiked and flowing, like gravity has ceased to affect it. Izuku’s fingers itch to reach for one of his notebooks, the page for “Victor Eraserhead” marked down at the edges as one of his favorites.

Kacchan shakes his hands out, growls in frustration when nothing happens. “What the fuck are you doing, shithead!?”

“Your quirk erases the quirks of others!” Izuku pipes up, still staring in awe, the horror of the situation stuck in the back of his mind for now, foot still stuck in the wall. “You used it in your game to save yourself almost 50 times!”

Aizawa finally blinks, hair falling back down around his shoulders, and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Yeah, and in the process I almost died from blurred black spots in my vision because I never blinked.” He looks up pointedly at Kacchan. “It’s easy to overuse your quirk when it’s the only weapon you have in the arena. Take it from me, that’s the easiest way to get killed.”

Izuku remembers watching reruns of Aizawa’s Game. He had an ally who overused his sound quirk to the point where his voice went hoarse and he couldn’t even speak. Aizawa was the only thing that kept him alive...until it wasn’t.

“If any fucker tries to come at me, I’ll blow them sky high.” He growls. “They take us off these fucking inhibitors, right?”

“And most of you will have no idea how to use it, since your quirk growth has been stunted at the age of four before suddenly speedrunning the growth process out of you in the span of three weeks of training.”

Kacchan smirks, rubbing his hands together frantically and creating an explosion the size of Izuku’s head. “The other dumb fucks haven't been practicing, have they?”

“The careers have. And they will kill you.” Aizawa’s response is deadpan.

Izuku gulps.

The careers go to special academies to train their inhibited quirks, specifically with the intent to learn control for when they volunteer for the games and let their full power be unleashed for the first time. They don’t stand a chance.

“You. What’s your name.”

Izuku blinks, suddenly nose to nose with the Eraserhead. He tries to lean back, but. His foot is still stuck in the wall. “U-uh, Izuku.”

“I thought it was Deku.”

“It is, birdbrain.” Kacchan snaps.

Aizawa just shrugs, eyes piercing. 

“You don’t have a quirk.”

Izuku can feel the panic settling in again, the unbridled terror of what’s awaiting him.

“That’s almost unheard of nowadays. Do you take the inhibitors?”

“U-um, yes. They want to stop the development in case we get one later in life.”

Aizawa’s eyes squint, and he leans back. Seems to think for a moment.

“Why did you volunteer?”

“I-what?”

He walks back over to the couches before collapsing unceremoniously, looking exhausted. “You knew this was a death sentence.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Kacchan growls.

Aizawa doesn’t even spare him a glance. “In the 74 years since the games began, every Victor has had an incredibly powerful quirk. Mount Lady killed every tribute in the arena within five days by stepping on them. Endeavour lit the arena on fire and burned the other tributes alive. Froppy hid in the ocean for twenty four days without once coming up for air, and out lived all the others. On average, on the rare occurrence that a Quirkless gets chosen, they die within the first hour.” He leans forward, still staring intently. “So why did you do it?”

Izuku swallows. He swallows again.

“To save Kacchan.”

“Oh FUCK OFF YOU DUMB SHIT!” Kacchan yanks on Izuku’s arms, pulling him out of the wall with a yelp. His hands are gripped tight and trembling. “I don’t need some quirkless nobodies help, I don’t need your fucking _pity_-”

“So why did _you_ volunteer, Bakugou?” Aizawa finally looks at him. Kacchan freezes, hands still holding onto Izuku’s biceps.

“I...fuck you.” He snaps, scowl clouding his features.

“You were home free and you volunteered anyway. Why?”

“Because Deku wouldn’t last five fucking minutes in the arena by himself, are you retarded?” He yells, head tossed back over his shoulder to bare his teeth at Aizawa. “You said so yourself. The people with the powerful quirks win, right? Well my quirk is fucking powerful. And it’s gonna get even more powerful once the drugs ware off.”

Izuku feels his heart thundering in his chest, looking up at Kacchan with wide eyes. “What?”

“You, shut up.” He snaps at him, refusing to meet his gaze.

But Izuku knows.

He wants to protect him.

Aizawa crosses his arms in front of him, giving them an odd look. “Only one of you can win this.”

“I fucking know, idiot.” Bakugou growls.

“I know.” Izuku mumbles.

Aizawa blinks. Blinks again. Some unnamable expression crosses over his face before it’s set back into the stone of indifference and ice.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

\-----------------------------------

Izuku has never tasted anything like this before.

"Slow down, kid, you’ll choke before you even get in the ring." Aizawa scowls as Izuku chokes, rice dribbling down his chin in his haste. Aizawa’s eyes look softer while he watches them eat, stress lines fading just slightly.

Kacchan snorts and pops a cherry into his mouth, eyes practically rolling into the back of his head. Fresh fruit is hard to come by, and expensive as hell, in the lower districts. Sometimes, in October, Kacchan would pick wild cherries and apples from the forests beyond the fence for apple cider and jams. They used to pick them together when they were kid, Kacchan on Izuku’s shoulders, reaching up as high as his arms could reach and stuffing his mouth full of the too tart cherries.

And the meat, it’s so tender and moist and he doesn’t have to pick rock salt pellets out of his teeth while he chews. Katsudon is now his favorite dish, ever. As soon as the waitresses that work the train saw Izuku’s baby cheeks, they melted into ecstatic giggles and have been cooing over him nonstop. When they found out he'd never had ice cream before, one of the older ones, (Margret?) practically had a heart attack, cotton candy blue wig falling out of place while flailing her arms, "You poor baby!" Since then Izuku's had two bowls of some kind of frozen milky sugary stuff covered in rainbow sprinkles. 

“Only a dumbass would choke on rice,” Kacchan stabs his fork down into a strawberry with far more force than necessary. The foods making Izuku feel a lot better, and he can tell Kacchan is loving it, he just refuses to admit it. “Just one less fucker for me to take down in the arena.”

"So how do you two plan on winning this thing?"

Izuku’s blood runs cold. He swallows around his mouthful of pork.

"Kacchan's winning." He says, no hesitation.

"What the fuck?!" Kacchan says sharply, head snapping around. Aizawa rolls his eyes.

"I meant, what're your strengths and weaknesses? We only have three weeks to teach Bakugou control over his quirk, and Modoriya how to survive without one.”

“What happened to only one of us making it out alive?” Kacchan’s eyes are squinted in suspicion, the effect kind of ruined by the bit of whipped creme sticking to his nose.

“If you have any chance of making it past the damn cornucopia, you’ll have to work together.” He looks pointedly at Bakugou, who just scowls. “You’re a hunter, aren’t you?”

Bakugou puffs his chest out. “Damn right I am.”

Aizawa nods. “Good. You have to learn how to be light on your feet for this. We have no idea what the arena is going to look like, so we have to be prepared for all possibilities. Midoriya?”

He looks up, startled. “Uh. I used to go into the woods with Kacchan when we were kids. Auntie Mitsuki taught me how to trap squirrels and fish.”

“He always cried like a bitch and wanted to set the damn rodents free.” Kacchan snorted, mouth full.

“B-but I know how to be quiet so that I don’t startle the animals! And I can track, a little bit. Oh, I can identify 564 different plant species from all across Panem. And animal types. Oh, and I can tie all 46 basic knots, and identify poisonous flora, and I study quirks, I know all about the different subsections and how to find flaws and disadvantages within newfound power segments, I take notes in my journals every year during the games-”

“Stop mumbling!” Kacchan reaches behind him, setting off a tiny spark near his ear and making him squeak and flinch back.

Aizawa blinks. “That sounds helpful.”

“Fuckn’ nerd.” 

“Bakugou, please stop dribbling on the table.”

"Kacchan can shoot better than anyone I know." Izuku pipes up, thoughtfully. "You should see him with a bow, it's insane."

"Fuck off."

"And he's strong too, could probably take out a full grown man if he looked at him wrong-"

"And shitty Deku can climb a tree faster than you can say "why the fuck did you volenteer?" Kacchan grits out.

“Why did you?” He snaps right back, suddenly furious.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean, Deku?” 

Izuku grits his teeth, food like lead heavy in his stomach. He’d barf if the guilt wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass. “When we get in there, you can’t just scream “die” at everybody and expect to come out alive!”

“Yeah, and you can’t just mumble about which flowers are poisonous and expect them not to cut your balls off!”

Izuku stands up abruptly, utensils clattering on the table. “You have a chance, back home. You could _be_ somebody, _do_ something-”

“Do what, fuckwad?” Kacchan jumps up too, fists connecting with the table. “I can’t work in the mines because of my quirk, I can’t go to college in the Town because I don’t have the money, I can’t go live in the woods because I’ve got racoon eyes and shitty hair to take care of, what the fuck could I ever be!?” His face is contorted into a look of rage, of desperation. “We don’t speak for two fuckn’ years and you try and volunteer in my place?”

“Who’s the one that stopped talking to who, Kacchan!?” Izuku yells.

“I didn’t see you trying very fuckin’ hard!”

“All I did was try!”

“Yeah, and you could never take the fuckn hint, could you!” His palms start smoking against the table, the chemical scent of oil finish burning in his nose. ”Stop fucking looking down on me. Just because I’m not a quirkless nobody like you doesn’t mean I could ever be somebody.”

And there it is. Again, what it always seems to come back to. Kacchan will never see what Izuku sees in him. He’ll never know how much he’s worth saving.

“That is mahogany!” Midnight gasps from the other side of the room where she’d been eavesdropping.

\---------------------------------- 

Showers, as it turns out, are incredible.

Deku screamed as soon as the water turned on and almost drowned himself, which would've been fucking hilarious if he hadn't looked so much like a wet puppy. It took Bakugou and him nearly half an hour to figure out how to work it, before caving and asking that fucker Midnight for help.

She hadn't been kidding about needing that bath; He felt like his skin had been scrubbed off, hot water permeating layers of muscle he hadn’t realized were cold. He spent an hour just sitting on the shower floor as the spray beat down on his from above, soaking in the warmth for as long as he could. His chest tightened when he came out and saw the soft pajamas lain out for him on the bed, with his own clothes nowhere in sight. The last pieces of home, gone.

He was currently trying not to strangle Deku while morphing into the bed, muscles aching in bliss from the soft mattress which Deku was currently refusing to get in.

“Stop being a pussy and just sit the fuck down." Bakugou’s voice was muffled by the pillow. Damn, that was good stuff. It felt like being smothered with a cloud. 

"You could fit five people on this thing." Deku’s fists clenched, tendons standing out against birdlike wrists. "They must've killed about a hundred birds to make it. How many people could that have fed, Kacchan?"

Bakugou pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting the urge to light Deku’s hair on fire like he did back in the fifth grade. "You just ate four plates of chicken nuggets, so I’d say about one."

“Be serious, Kacchan!” Deku whined.

“Fuck the birds, stop being a pussy, get in the damn bed.”

Deku huffed before throwing himself down, but the tantrum in the action was short lived by his moan of bliss when his body sunk into it.

“Told ya.” Bakugou smirked.

“It’s like laying on a cloud.” Deku sounded drunk, hands running reverently over the material beneath his fingers.

“Like fucking a marshmellow.”

“Like sleeping in a bowl of rice.”

Bakugou snorted. “How the hell can you still be hungry?”

Deku yawned, tongue curling like a cat, and nuzzled his green head into the covers. “When’s the next chance we’re gonna get food like this, Kacchan?”

Bakugou froze, eyes snapping open.

He’s so fucking stupid.

They’re on a train, on their way to the capitol, to compete in a last man standing battle royale, and he’s cuddling into the sheets next to fucking Deku.

Deku, who he hasn’t spoken to since his dad died.

Deku, who he spent the last year they spoke bullying ruthlessly.

Deku, who volunteered to take his place, knowing he was going to die, and willing to do it anyway.

Bakugou’s fingers curled further into the sheets, heart hammering in his chest.

“Kacchan...can we sleep in the same bed tonight?” Deku asks, long eyelashes fanning his cheeks.

“Hell no. There are ten fucking beds in this compartment.”

“Yeah, but…” Deku opens his eyes to look at him, eyebrows pinched together. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Bakugou swallows. Fuck. He doesn’t want to be alone either.

“If you steal the sheets I’m gonna strangle you with them.”

Deku smiles, shuffling around until he can pry the comforter from beneath Bakugou’s stubbornly unmoving body and drape it around them, coming in close. “Thank you, Kacchan.”

“If you touch me I’ll kill you.” He refuses to open his eyes. He can feel Deku’s minty fresh toothpaste breath on his nose.

“Sure you will.” He says cheerfully, before burrowing back down. His fingertips just barely graze the back of Bakugou’s hand.

Fuck. He’s gonna die anyway, isn’t he?

He doesn't flinch back, which gives Deku the courage to leave his hand on top of his. “Goodnight, Kacchan.”

“Die, nerd.”

He pretends not to hear Deku crying next to him in the dark, and in return, Deku doesn’t complain when Bakugou squeezes his hand tightly in his own. It takes a long time for them to fall asleep, but eventually the exhaustion from the world changing events of the day, along with the gentle rock of the train, lulls them to sleep.


	4. Be Our Guest

Have you ever heard a rabbit getting killed by a fox?

It’s a wretched sound, a gargling ugulation of vocal chords clinging to the vestiges of life. When you shoot a rabbit, it’s over quick. One between the eyes and it drops down dead, the only sound the rustle of leaves as it’s body hits the forest floor. But the fox takes it by the throat, ripping through with its sharpened teeth while it screams.

It’s the most awful sound in the world.

\--------------------------------

Waxing is fucking horrible

The bastards almost take his balls off with the thin white strips. (yes, they waxed his fucking balls, he knew these fuckers were sadists but jesus _christ _man.) He screams the whole time, until they have to strap his arms down after he sets fire to one of those fucking extra’s wigs. He can hear Deku whining on the other side of the room, probably from the hairstylists trying to untangle that mane of hair on his head. They trim Bakugou’s hair, give him like fifteen different shampoo treatments, and when he looks in the mirror it’s almost white. He’s seen the photographs, yeah, of his mother from when she lived in the Town, but he never realized he took after her so much. He reaches a hand up gently, fingers flinching back at the softness of it. His cheeks look pink from the scrubbing, and he scowls, furious. He hasn’t spent fifteen fucking years collecting dirt and grime and making himself look tough for these extras to ruin it all and turn him into..into...some fucking pretty boy.

He looks so much like his mother.

The door slides open, and Deku stumbles in, same blue plastic gown as Bakugou, looking like a goddamn baby. How can someone that deathly thin have cheeks that chubby?

He looks up, and his eyes go wide. “Kacchan!” His smile is huge, taking up half his face, eyes crinkling at the edges, and rushes over to him. “I didn’t know you were blonde!”

“The fuck do you mean?” He snarls, self conscious over his stupid hair all of a sudden. “Dirt doesn’t make your hair a different fucking color, shitty nerd.”

“It looks good.” Deku says, hands reaching up to touch. Bakugou angrily slaps them away. “Did they use that conditioner stuff on you, too?”

Bakugou squints at him, leaning forward slightly.

“You got more freckles.”

Deku wrinkles his nose, making the brown dots sprinkled across them warp in the process. “Don’t remind me. I get a bunch of them in the summertime.”

Bakugou knows that. He knows the nerd had shitty freckles. There are just...more of them than he remembers.

They haven't fuckin’ talked in two years, how is he supposed to remember every goddamn freckle on his ugly little face?

The doors slide open again, and Midnight strolls in, two of the capitol beauty technicians on her heels. She gasps and claps her hands in delight. 

“Boys! You look so handsome, my _goodness!_Katsuki, darling, who would’ve known you were so adorable!” She ruffles his hair, making him snap his teeth at her in an effort to bite. One of the technicians rushes over to fix it.

They’re taken to different rooms and left alone.

Bakugou doesn’t bother sitting on the medical bed. His leg keeps jumping, foot tapping, nerves lighting up inside of him. He paces the empty space for ten minutes, running agitated hands through his too soft, fluffy hair (fucking stylists,) waiting for god knows what.

When the door finally opens again, he flinches back, hard.

“Hello Katsuki.”

The most beautiful woman he’s ever seen walks in. And that’s saying something, because Midnight is a knockout.

She’s a bit shorter than him, dark skin and long white hair almost as white as his own. He’s almost surprised: She looks strong. Chords of muscle wind through her biceps, on display through her high rise jumpsuit, thick thighs like tree trunks showing off creamy hairless skin, long purple boots starting in the middle of her thighs. He can’t tell if her bunny ears are a part of a quirk or not, considering the over the top fashion he’s been seeing all over this god forsaken place. 

Then he sees her feet. Covered in a fine downy fur, elongated like a rabbits, wrapped in the casings of her shoes but still shown off, purposefully, proudly. It’s a quirk.

“My name’s Mirko.” She smirks at him, circling slowly, arms crossed over her chest. It just defines the muscle more. “I’ll be your stylist for the games.”

“You’re here to make me look pretty?” He glares. She stops in front of him, something sad flickering through her eyes.

“I’m here to help you make an impression.” She states simply. “Not that you need my help, what with that little stunt you pulled on national TV with your boyfriend.”

“HAH!? Deku’s not my fucking-What!?” His shoulders rise unconsciously.

She snorts, stepping closer to inspect the canvas she’ll be working with. “You boys are all anybody’s talking about, kid. “The Volunteers of District Twelve,” childhood friends, ready to face off in the arena.”

He wrinkles his brow. “...really?”

She hms thoughtful and pinches his cheek. He snarls and tries to slap it away, but she’s faster than him, smacking his hand and continuing to poke and prod at various parts of his body. “Hell yeah, squirt. There’s never been a single volunteer from Twelve, and suddenly we get two right off the bat. And volunteering for each _other? _It’s almost scandalous how theatrical it is.” She jabs him in the side. “You’ve got some muscles on you, and such a cute tiny waist!" She squeezes both side of it, making him jump. "We can add some belts or something, make sure to crop your outfits right there in the middle for accentuation. And a tight ass, we should play that up for the cameras.”

“Like hell you will!” He growls, finally yanking her hand away, stepping back a few feet. Hie ears burn. “I didn’t volunteer for anybody.”

She rolls her eyes sarcastically. “Really. And I suppose clinging onto your crying little “Deku” and biting a peacekeepers ear off to get back to him was just a coincidence, was it?”

He scowls and looks away.

She walks forward slowly, like he’s a scared animal, like he’s a little fucking kid. Her hand is gentle where it wraps around his bicep, giving a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m not gonna say sorry for your loss. You’d probably just think I’m looking down on you, or calling you weak, if what I saw on screen yesterday is anything to go by.” Her voice is firm, commanding, comforting. It reminds him of his mother. “You got guts, kid. You deserve to keep ‘em inside you. It’s a tough break.”

Bakugou stares at the ground, tries to shove the hand on his arm off, but she clings all the tighter. “All these fhitty extras do is congratulate me.”

She snorts. “They’re idiots. They see a shiny new toy and can’t wait to break it.” Her hand lets go and she goes back to the door, puts in a code that he memorizes, and they swing open. He’ll never get fucking used to that. It’s weird. “Let’s get your measurements and come up with a game plan. Intimidation is key when it comes to the chariot ride. What’s your quirk, kid?”

Instead of answering, he smirks, slapping his hands together and starts rubbing. An explosion goes off between them, lighting the dark room with sparks and a loud _boom! _

She grins, a glimmer in her hazel eyes. “Oh, you’re fucking _perfect, _sweetheart.”

\-----------------------------------------

Bakugou likes Mirko.

She’s tough and speaks her mind, rolling her eyes at the outlandish ruffles and feathers of the other tributes, preferring a simpler style the plays up what Bakugou already has than try and make something entirely new. They get in a screaming match twice, Bakugou throws a chair and scares away her assistance, but she actually listens to him and included him in the design process.

“The point of the Chariot Ride is to make the people remember you, dazzle them with something from your district and scare the other tributes away with your strength.” She holds her arms up and flexes, smirk on her face. “This is how you get sponsors: You don’t have a whole lot of time to get your name out there to the Capitol, so making an outfit that’s going to be talked about, impressive, is what where going for.”

“They’re parading us around like a prized pig.” He snaps.

She shakes her head. “This is for the tributes way more than for the capitol, it’s just good luck that they enjoy seeing you all primped and pretty for them.”

He glares down at the paper. “When did you decide fire was better than coal? We’re a mining district.”

She boops him on the nose, pulling back and laughing when he yells in annoyance. “When I saw that quirk of yours. It’s like fireworks, and once the inhibitors are worn off, they’re gonna be powerful fucking explosions. Trust me.”

He scrunches his eyebrows up, pointing to a badly drawn picture of mock explosions. “Why not light the fire with my quirk? During the chariot rides, while they’re busy fawning over the fucking ruffles n’ shit. Steal the spotlight and light it up.”

“Aizawa told me you were a little shit, but he failed to mention you were smart too.” She ruffles his hair, him swatting it away in annoyance while she laughs over the spread out drawings and scrawled notes laid before them. “I was gonna light ‘em before you got out there, but I like your idea better.”

Yeah, she keeps poking him and yeah, there’s definitely some objectification going on in the costumes he’s tried on so far, (She’s giving him a fucking _titty _cutout, like some girl,) but overall she doesn’t seem to be here to dress him up all pretty and move on to the next thing.

She’s trying to help him. And maybe it’s her eat shit attitude, but he actually believes her

Deku has a different stylist from Bakugou, someone who’s obviously trying to up the cuteness factor on him. It took him thirty minutes to scrub the makeup from his face when he got back to the penthouse where District Twelve is staying, mumbling incoherently about lolita something or other before slamming the bathroom door hard behind him. Bakugou laughed while Deku yelled at him from behind the door. Mirko has final say over the chariot costumes, but for the interviews with present mic, he’s on his own.

That evening, Aizawa gets up from the sleeping bag he’s been passed out in all day to gather them into the lounge, two tongueless Avox flanking him with boxes in their hands. Deku eyes them with empathy. Bakugou thinks it serves them right.

“We’re taking you off your inhibitors tonight.” Aizawa says. 

Midnight claps her hands in glee. “This is going to be so exciting! Aizawa, do you remember when you went off your inhibitors for the first time?”

“I had a stroke and pissed myself.” He takes a sip of his drink. It’s blue and smells like battery acid.

“That’s just your body going into withdrawl.” She slaps his arm playfully, making him spill his drink on his scarf. “We speedrun the process by forcing your body to reject the inhibitor medicine, essentially cramming ten yesrs of quirk development into a three week period!” She takes one of the gilded bronze boxes from the Avox’s stretched out hands. “The needle is a little long, but don’t worry too much! The pain will wear off by tomorrow morning.”

Bakugou and Deku eye the box warily.

The needle hurts like a mother fucker, but it’s the nausea that follows that really fucks him up. He vomits over the toilet seat, entire body breaking out in a cold sweat to try and attack the unnatural substance pumping through his blood. His palms keep slipping on the porcelain, dry heaving stomach acid, eyes watering from the cramping pain. Deku had long since gone limp, blacking out in the bathtub after screaming in pain before breaking out into sobs. He catches a look of himself in the chunky, sour smelling water. Red rimmed eyes, snot dripping down his chin, once fluffy hair now spiked up in a sweaty, explosive mess. Wonder what those shitty extras would say, seeing him like this, all that pomp and primping gone in the span of four hours. Bakugou snorts, immediately regretting the decision when his burning throat protests. 

he presses a cold palm to his cheek and heat of his skin flares against it. His head does a dizzy spin and he rakes fingers through his hair, gripping the strands. He’s trembling a bit but he feels so fucked right now that he barely registers how pathetic it is.

Aizawa is leaning against the doorway, staring down at them with a hard expression on his face. 

“Will you fuck off already?” Bakugou croaks out.

“I’m here to make sure neither of you die during the cleansing process.” He says.

“He’s worried about you!” Midnight calls out from somewhere in the lounge.

There’s ruffling movement from inside the bathtub, and Deku groans. “Kacchan. Hurts.”

“No shit, idiot.” He snaps back.

Deku moans again and curls in closer to himself, a whimper escaping him.

“Why the fuck does he have to do this too? He’s quirkless.” Bakugou grinds out against clenched teeth.

“Because it’s fair.” Aizawa replies. “In the case of a late bloomer, going off the inhibitors could prove that someone who’s lived their whole lives without a quirk might actually have one, lying dormant inside them.”

“That’s never happened before.” Deku grinds out, eyes and teeth clenched tight.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” Aizawa steps farther into the bathroom, crouching down beside Bakugou where he’s kneeling. He lifts a hand to Bakugou’s back, soothing the ache of his muscles with a soft stroke before Bakugou violently shoves him off again. His stomach churns with an ache so painful that it feels like his guts are tied in knots.

“Kacchan. Hurts.”

“Stop fucking repeating yourself!” He screams, to hell with his throat, to hell with Deku, to hell with everything. “What the fuck do you expect me to do about it, huh?” His head is throbbing, like there’s an ice pick behind his eyes.

Deku reaches a small, trembling hand up over the edge of the tub, making a grabby motion until he’s able to get a weak grip on Bakugou’s black shirt sleeve, fisting it. Bakugou shrugs it off, but Deku just clings again, and he’s back to hurling his guts out before he can push him away again.

“Are you okay?” Deku asks quietly.

“The fuck do you think, retard?” Bakugou croaks. Maybe he’ll just rest his eyes for a bit. He crosses his arms over the toilet, resting a burning cheek against the cool rim. “Feel like shit.”

“Lay down. It helps with the pain.” Deku whispers.

“Maybe if your a pussy it does.”

“You should listen to him.” Aizawa says. “They’ve refined the serum since my time, but I remember how much it hurt.”

Bakugou doesn’t move. Aizawa sighs and stands up.

“Try to make it to a bed sometime tonight.” He says. “Your stylists will kill me if you show up tomorrow morning looking like zombies.”

“Yeah, we gotta look fuckable so that the rich dicks give us money, right?” Bakugou says sarcastically.

“Exactly. And that’s never going to happen if you don’t get your attitude in check.”

“We’re sorry, Aizawa sensei.” Deku says quietly. Bakugou feels his fist tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Modoriya. The whole world is gonna fall in love with you.”

“Idiots. Who’d wanna fuck a quirkless nobody like you?” Bakugou growls.

“Pedophiles.” Aizawa answers. Deku’s hand is shaking.

“They’re not gonna get the _chance _to touch you, idiot. You’ll be dead first.” But Bakugou’s hands are gripping the sides hard, too.

A lot of people get raped in the Games.

It’s mostly the girls, the Quirkless, and it’s almost always done by a Career. That’s not to say the kids don’t fuck. When you’re in a certain death situation and you’re stuck somewhere with the only person in the ring who doesn’t wanna kill you, well. Nobody wants to die a fucking virgin.

“You too, Bakugou. I’d be careful if I were you. You’re a lot prettier than you think.” Aizawa says dryly.

“If they touch me I’ll fucking kill them.”

“What happens when you’ve got five people holding you down, running a train on you?” 

“Can we please talk about someone else.” Deku groans.

“Just… be careful.” Aizawa says softly. “You can use your looks to your advantage out here, when we’re introducing you to the sponsors and the game keepers. But don’t let yourself look weak, not even for a moment.”

“I’m not fucking weak.” Bakugou growls.

“Of course not.” Aizawa replies, before slinking away.

They just sit there for a moment. You could cut the tension with a knife.

“He’s right, you know.” Deku struggles to sit up, flinching hard, grabbing onto Bakugou’s bicep until he’s panting, knees up, leaning heavily against the inside of the tub. “I’m really plain looking, but Kacchan is beautiful.”

“Hah!? I’m not a fucking girl, dumbass!”

“But it’s true!” Deku grips tighter, staring down at his lap. His hair is glued to his forehead with sweat, disgusting put stains on his shirt. “You’re beautiful, really. Ask anybody.”

Bakugou feels his stomach flip for a completely different reason.

“Fuck off.” He mutters limply.

Deku rests his head against his shoulder, tufts of damp hair brushing Bakugou’s bicep where he’s still holding onto him. “It’s your eyes. They’re like rubies, so dark and red. And you’ve got really long eyelashes, Kacchan.”

Shut up, shut up shut up shut up. “I look like I just got hit by a truck.”

“You know what I mean!”

He groans, flopping his side against the tub, jostling Deku’s head in the process until it’s resting on Bakugou’s shoulder instead of his own. “Why the fuck is the grim reaper so obsessed with sex anyway.”

Deku wrinkles his nose. “Do you remember his Game?”

Bakugou scoffs. “Like I’d wanna watch that shit. You’re the little creep that gets off to it, rewatching the games and taking your shitty notes like you’ll ever use them for anything.”

Deku sighs. “A girl got...taken advantage of. During one of the first nights.”

He can hear the drip of the sink from where someone didn’t turn the water off completely.

“Eraserhead was hidden in a tree and had to watch the whole thing.”

Bakugou’s heart stutters. “And he didn’t fucking do anything? He just watched?”

“They were careers, and there were too many of them. If he tried to help they probably would’ve done the same thing to him.”

“That’s no goddamn excuse. Disgusting.”

Deku nuzzles his shoulder with his head, eyes drooping closed. Bakugou’s fucking exhausted.

“Why do people want sex so badly in the first place? It’s not exactly a priority when you’re trying not to, you know, _die.” _Bakugou wonders, not for the first time.

“It’s about power, and humiliation. A lot of the Careers that become Victors like to brag about their conquests in the arena.”

“Yeah, but people fuck anyway. Assholes from the same districts and shit.”

Deku shrugs. “They don’t wanna feel alone.”

He wonders why, when every other person is out for your blood. Why risk it? Why would you _want _to? How could you trust someone not to slit your throat in a situation like that?

“Have you ever...done it?”

Bakugou blinks.

Then he jerks back, staring at Deku in horror.

“What the actual shit.”

“I’m sorry!” Deku babbles, hands waving in front of him, red up to his ears. “I just-I mean, we were talking about it-”

Why the _hell _were they talking about it!? “Like I would fucking tell _you, _pervert. The fuck you wanna know for?”

Deku looks away, bites his lip. His cheeks are flushed in embarrassment, and Bakugou wants to smack him in the face until the red is there for a different reason. He can feel the tips of his own ears growing warm. “I don’t know. I mean. We’re in a terrifying situation, and we were talking about it, and I don’t know-”

“Why, have you?” Bakugou snaps.

Deku swallows, and he turns even more red.

Holy shit.

“Holy shit.” Bakugou breathes, before barking out a laugh, leaning heavily back against the tub. “Why the _hell _would wanna fuck you?”

“Kacchan, it’s not funny!” Deku tries to shove him, but he’s still so weak, and he just collapses back and groans. “You don’t know her anyway.”

“You got a little girlfriend? Why didn’t she come crying during the reaping? Were you that bad a lay?”

“Stop it!” He snaps in annoyance. 

“Bet you paid one of the hookers that hangs out at night to suck your micro dick-”

“She’s not even _from _District Twelve.”

“The fuck? You never left that shithole before now.”

“I know, I know.” He grumbles. “She’s from District 3, came on a school trip with her father on one of the cable cars six months ago.”

Bakugou swallows. Shit.

“We can’t visit the other districts, shithead.”

“Her dad’s a scientist. You know District 3 deals with technological manufacturing. He was studying the lead content in our water.” Deku pauses. “She was beautiful.”

“I bet she was fat like a walrus.”

“Shut up! She was tall, and had long blonde hair-”

“Bet her vag smelled like District four’s fishing ports.”

Deku swats at him, but it’s half hearted. “She was smart, like her dad. She called me cute and showed me some of the inventions she’d been working on.”

“Of course that’s the shit to turn you on.”

“Kacchan, I will bite you.”

“IF you fucking give me some District 3 whore’s HPV I swear to fuck-”

Deku actually _laughs, _shaking his whole body with the force of it, and Bakugou’s chest tightens. He hasn’t heard him laugh in two years.

“It was her last day in our District, and I took her out beyond the fence.”

“...you still go out in the woods?”

Deku nods. “Yeah. It’s peaceful. I never go where you usually go, though, don’t worry! I didn’t take her to any of our- I mean. We just sat in the meadow.”

Our spots.

Where they used to fish and climb trees and pick apples as children, beyond the fence.

“She said she wished she could stay, and...and she kissed me.”

“That all?”

“I’m not telling you the rest.”

“You eat her asshole or anything?”

“Kacchan!”

“Plain vanilla, got it. Boring ass nerd.”

Deku yawns, nuzzling again. Bakugou realizes he’s been resting his head against Deku’s. He doesn’t try and move, tells himself it’s cause his body hurts too much.

“I’ve...never.”

“Really? Not even with Kirishima-”

“Ew, shitty hair? The fucks wrong with you?” Bakugou shudders just thinking about it. “He’s practically family. Like a slobbery dog that followed me home and never fucking left.”

“He’s not a pet!”

“Why’s he got fleas then?”

“I would’ve thought you would lose it before me.”

Bakugou clenches his fists. “What the fuck does it matter, anyway? Just ‘cause you can fuck some random chick doesn’t mean _I _want to." He doesn't want to think about it. It makes him queasy, Deku with his hands all over some faceless blonde bitch. He probably wouldn't even call it fucking. He'd say some gay shit like _making love._

He stares down at his hands, smoking slightly. They hurt like a motherfucker. "Haven't even kissed anyone yet.” He confesses.

“Do you want it to mean something?”

“That's fuckin' gay.”

Deku laughs again. Bakugou’s chest tightens. “I missed this.” He turns his head further inward, till his forehead is resting on Bakugou’s shoulder, Kakugou’s head still resting on his. “I missed talking.”

“I fucking didn’t. I was glad to get rid of you.”

“Of course you were.” He smiles slightly. “I just wish it was under different circumstances.”

“What, detoxing in a bathroom filled with vomit ain’t good enough for you?”

He can’t see Deku’s stupid face, but he can guess what it looks like. “I’m so sorry that I got us into this.”

“My name got fuckin’ picked. I was going in anyway.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, damnit.”

"Okay Kacchan."

Bakugou closes his eyes, feeling another cramp of nausea roll through him. It's gonna be a long night.

He doesn't move his head from where it's resting against Deku. Maybe he'll upchuck all over him for shits and giggles. The nerd probably wouldn't even get mad, just rub his back comfortingly and help him back over the toilet.

He tries to pretend the thought doesn't bring him any comfort.


	5. The Chariot Race

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank @theeggoman for this amazing drawing of the boys in their chariot race costumes!!!!! I'm so happy with how it turned out, it fits them perfectly and was exactly what i was trying to describe. Go check their art out on tumblr or youtube!
> 
> youtube.com/TheEggoMan
> 
> https://theeggoman.tumblr.com/

Izuku takes one look at their costumes and feels his face go beat red.

“No fucking way.” Kacchan growls.

“Are those...Are they even going to fit us?” Izuku squeaks, both him and Kacchan looking to Aizawa to save them. The tailors took their measurements, right? They looked about three sizes too small, and he was pretty sure latex couldn’t stretch. 

Aizawa just shrugged, a sadistic gleam in his eye. “Better than the coal mining suits we had to wear my year.”

Kacchan spits at the costume, narrowly missing as Midnight shrieks and jerks his arm away, messing with his aim.

“A gentleman does not _spit!” _She scolds. He tries to bite her.

Mirko roars with laughter, head tilted back to the ceiling, hands on her toned hips. “This one certainly does!” She holds up one of the costumes by the hanger, stretching out her arm proudly. This one has a diamond shaped hole in the front. Like a boob cut out. “C’mon, Bakugou! The crowd’ll be eating out of your sweaty little hands!”

“It’s Nitroglycerin, not sweat!” He snaps. “And it’s got a fucking hole in it!”

“That’s to show off your boobs.” Mirko grins.

Kacchan goes beat red. ”THEY’RE NOT FUCKING BOOBS!”

Midnight clicks her tongue and sighs. “Now is _not _the time! We have so much work to do if wither of you are going to be ready for the performance tonight!”

“It’s 8 in the fucking morning!” Kacchan yells.

“Yeah, um. Why are we getting ready so early?” Izuku asks. The races weren’t until 9 PM.

“Because we need to do your face peels early to allow time for the redness to go down!”

Izuku wrinkle is brow. “Face peels?”

Aizawa snaps his head towards her, quirk reflexively flaring up and hair rising on instinct. “You are not chemically peeling their faces.”

“You’re doing _what!?” _Kacchan screams, hands smoking.

“I’d really prefer if you didn’t.” Izuku says numbly.

Midnight rolls her eyes, and the beauty technicians gathered in the style room laugh amongst themselves. “Come on, Shota! Have you _seen _how bad little Izuku’s acne is? I can see his black heads from here!”

“They’re freckles.” He mumbles, staring at his shoes, face red. It’s not like skin care was a high priority in district 12, and his mother couldn’t exactly afford acne medication for him. 

“We can’t have a blotchy boy on live TV! It was endearing at the reaping, but the sponsors are going to vomit if they see it in HD. And Bakugou’s pours are absolutely ginormous-”

“IT’S BECAUSE OF MY FUCKING QUIRK-” He screams.

“-And they could go for a relaxing spa day!” She finishes in a huff. “Come on! Facials, massages, eyebrow shaping-”

“You touch my eyebrows you lose a finger,” He growls.”

“-No arguments! You are going to be pampered and you are going to enjoy it!” Her voice wavers on the last word, bottom lip wobbling. Kacchan looks a bit taken aback at the action.

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and when she opens them again her picture perfect smile is back on her face. “I’ll order virgin mimosas and some fruit platters just for you two! This is going to be so much fun!”

Izuku has seen Midnight every year at the reaping, the epitome of Capitol fashion and glamour and extravagance, revealing clothing and loud booming laugh and enrapturing personality. She’s always so excited for the tributes selected, with the highest hopes and expectations. She’s been doing this job for 11 years now.

That’s 22 kids. All dead.

That’s gotta weigh on a person’s consciousness, doesn’t it.

After a lot of face scrubbing, eyebrow plucking, nose hair shaving and some weird bath where Izuku, Bakugou, and 5 other tributes from different districts had to soak in the strongest smelling essential oils ever, (Kacchan had to be escorted out by security because he accidentally touched someone’s foot and lit the entire tub on _fire _) They’re finally given a break.

“Just throw me in the fucking arena already.” Kacchan groans, face buried in a down feather pillow on the lounge couch, soft fluffy robe haphazardly tied around his waist so one shoulder is exposed. Izuku tries not to stare.”

“They just want us to get sponsors, Kacchan.” Izuku winces when he sits, entire body aching from the “massage” he’d been signed up for. It was basically extreme corset training. He feels like a slab of meat that someone (most likely Kacchan) pulverized with a hammer in their attempt to tenderize it.

“Sponsors my ass. They wanna parade us around like circus freaks.” He growls, the effect lost in the muffled pillow. “They lasered off my butt hair. I’m gonna kill them all.”

Izuku scoots closer, leaning forward for the fruit tray and grabbing a strawberry. “She means well. This is her way of helping us.” He holds the strawberry closer to Kacchan’s head, held out enticingly in his palm. Kacchan glares at it before snatching it up with his teeth and chewing angrily, little green stem and all.

“I don’t need her shitty help! This is all stupid, aren’t they supposed to be training us into killing machines by now?”

“Someone’s eager!” A voice calls cheerily, and both of their heads snap up. 

In front of them, a tall, well built guy is grinning ear to ear, hair dark black and curly like Izuku’s. He’s got a friendly face and sort of angular eyes. He’s built like a brick house, if the straining of his robe at the shoulders is anything to go by.

“Who the fuck are you!?” Kacchan sits up, hackles raised. His robe slips completely down his left shoulder. Izuku’s face grows hot and he stares straight ahead in front of him at the stranger.

“I’m Shindo, from District 9!” He reaches forward and clasps one of Izuku’s hands between his own in a warm grip, smile never leaving his face. Kacchan tenses beside him. 

“Oh, the farming district.” That explains the bulging muscles. They’ve got plenty to eat.

“I’ve been so excited to meet you!”

“Y-you know who we are?” Izuku stutters, looking at Kacchan in confusion. He doesn’t look back, just stares at Shindo with unwarrented contempt. So how he normally looks at people.

Shindo laughs sweetly. “Are you kidding me? Everyone knows who you are! It’s not every day someone volunteers from a District that isn’t in the top 3, and then two of you, from twelve, back to back? That takes an insane amount of bravery!”

Izuku gives a nervous smile. “I don’t really think-”

“And you! Bakugou, was it?” Shindo smiles Kacchan’s way, making his scowl turn into a snarl. “You must really love him to volunteer anyway.”

Kacchan slaps his palms together and blows them up right in Shindo’s face.

“KACCHAN!” Izuku yells, Shindo’s hands pulling back in shock. “Don’t _do _that!”

“The fuck do you want, shitty extra?” Kacchan yells, taking a menacing step forward, slightly in front of Izuku. “Can’t wait for the arena to get your ass handed to you?”

Shindo just laughs pleasantly, but his eyes flash with the challenge. God damnit, Kacchan. “That’s an impressive quirk! I didn’t notice it at the reaping!”

“I’m sorry, he’s just like that.” Izuku stumbles hurriedly, hand going to Kacchan’s back. He shrugs it off angrily.

“We’re not here to hold hands and prance in the fuckin’ flowers, asshole.” He grinds his teeth, showing off his canines, the rabid, feral anger that District 12 breeds so well in the hopeless.

“I get that! I look forward to learning from you!”

“The only thing you’re going to be learning is how my foot tastes up your ass!” Kacchan yells. A few masseuses scurry away, glancing at them in worry.

Shindo smirks. “Well, we’ll see once we get there, won’t we?”

He saunters away, whistling all the while. Kacchan watches his retreating back, relaxing only when he turns the corner out of sight.

Iuku immediately smacks him upside the head, earning an explosion to the face in thanks. “What the _hell, _Kacchan!”

“What the hell? Really? What the _hell were you thinking _, fraternizing with the enemy!?”

“He was just saying hello!”

“He was sizing up the competition!”

“That’s what _you _were doing, not him!”

“Whatever!” Bakugou flops down and screams into his pillow.

It’s quiet for a moment, Kacchan’s heavy breathing the only sound besides the cool jazz playing over the speakers.

“They’ve got armed guards on every fucking exit.” Kacchan grumbles. 

Izuku nods. “I know.”

“We’re gonna have to kill him.”

He tenses.

“If someone else doesn’t do it first. You know that, dickhead?”

Izuku swallows. “We don’t know that.”

Kacchan lifts his head in aggravation. “Yes we fucking do! It doesn’t matter how much they smile, or laugh, or hold your precious fucking hands, because in the end it’s us or them!” He stands up, knocks his shoulder against Izuku’s roughly enough to make him stumble back. “And I’m not going to lose.”

Izuku swallows roughly. He knows.

Squeezing into the costumes is nearly impossible. Even with two tailors patiently helping him shimmy the thing up over his hips, he still has to take two breaks to breathe, sweating his makeup off and making his stylist fret over him with a brush and extra gold paint. He’s panting by the time it’s finally been zipped up the back.

They’re wearing matching costumes, (with some slight variations for Kacchan’s boobs, from what he saw this morning.) It’s a black, longsleeved and turtlenecked, skintight sort of latex. There’s something almost hypnotizing about the fabric, an iridescent colored sheen over the black that makes it look as if it’s moving with the light, like diamonds hardened from coal. The shoulders have _actual _diamonds sewn in, mixed with flecks of gold dust across the entire top. The sleeved have a small circular thread for him to tuck his middle finger into, acting as an elegant glove for his hand. Yes, it’s entirely too small and tight looking, but all in all, it’s elegant, regal. Nothing as flashy and outlandish as the capital tends to be, and Izuku feels immense relief that _his _stylist wasn’t in charge of their costumes. They’d probably prance out there dressed up like giant puffballs.

Midnight coos over him in awe, praising his stylist (who did basically nothing in terms of designing the thing,) and subtlety running her hands over the fabric. “Oh darling, you look fantastic! Look at those tight thigh muscles, oh you’ll be the talk of the night!”

Izuku blushes. “I can’t breath in this thing.”

“If you can breathe, it’s not tight enough!” His stylist tuts, fixing on of his curls back into place. She somehow managed to tame the wild nest on his head, slicked back and tightly curled out at the bottom, gold paint on his eyelids and diamonds glued to the corners. She nods in approval and yells at one of her helpers to bring the out his boots. (Izuku’s seen them; They’re massive platform monsters that look more like they belong in an illegal S&M porno than a government sponsered event)

Actually, the entire outfit looks like something out of a porno.

There’s muffled shouting from the next room, and suddenly a giant explosion ricochets through the wall and the fire alarm goes off, loud beeping waking Aizawa who’d been nodding off the entire time on the couch.

“WHAT _WAS _THAT?” One of the technicians screams, hands covering her ears. Midnight screams for someone to turn off the alarm.

He hears a string of loud curses, and suddenly the widest smile he thinks he’s ever had stretched his face.

“That’s Kacchan’s quirk!”

“WHAT?” Someone shouts over the blare of the alarm. Midnight types something into the security system, and it finally turns off.

A door to the right is suddenly kicked open, slamming against the opposite wall, smoke billowing out in it’s wake, and Kacchan is grinning manically, a deadly glint in his wild eyes.

“DID YOU FUCKERS SEE THAT SHIT?” He screams.

Izuku’s breath catches in his throat, eyes bulging out of his head.

Kacchan’s standing in the doorway, black smoke surrounding him, hands still glowing red from the blast, curled inwards towards the palms, legs spread and crouched and already clad in the giant platform boots. Almost his whole chest is exposed by the costumes cutout, just barely covering his nipples, and a large dark orange X crosses over the black shimmering fabric. His costume has tank top sleeves, showing off his shoulders and part of his strong biceps before black lace gloves begin, elegant and dangerous, the palms of them now chard and destroyed from the force of the blast. The latex is to tight that Izuku can see the outline of his _bellybutton. _He forces his eyes up, and almost regrets it when he makes eye contact with him. His eye makeup is drastically different from his own. Instead of shimmering gold and precious emerald green, Kacchan’s eyes are smoky black, almost like out dripping down his cheeks, and glittering sharply in the light. It looks like a mask. He’s got fake jewelry in his ears, gorgeous gold at the top connected by a chain to the black spikes at his lobes.

He’s dangerous. He’s breathtaking. He’s beautiful.

“Well? Did you see it, nerd?” Kacchan’s still grinning, hair spiked and wild, chest heaving with excitement, and Izuku’s chest hurts so badly, the way it used to when they were still friends, the way it does still sometimes when he looks at him from affair, standing with Kirishima and eyes so soft and gentle with denied affection.

They just stand there, grinning madly at each other, before Aizawa snorts.”

“We certainly heard it.” Aizawa mumbles, but Izuku sees the smile threatening the corner of his mouth. Kacchan scoffs and flexes his fingers, still smiling.

“I probably should’ve expected that.” Mirko says, entering the room and leaning her shoulder on Kacchan’s head, who yells and tries to swat it away. “We’re gonna have to fix your gloves now, idiot.”

“Fuck the gloves!” Kacchan pumps his fist in the air victoriously. “Once those fuckers see what I can do, they’ll be begging to sponsor me.” 

“You are _smearing _your makeup!” Cries one of the beauticians from inside the charred room, running out with his wig half off his head and scorch marks on his face, fake purple eyelashes falling off.

Midnight claps her hands in delight. “You’re quirk is developing!”

“It’s only been a day and it’s that strong?” Izuku can’t believe it!

“You’re gonna be on tough nut to crack, kid.” Aizawa frowns. “Why are your boobs out?”

“THEY’RE NOT BOOBS!” Kacchan screams, and slaps his hands together to create another huge explosion that turns the alarm back on. This time, the sprinklers go off with it, and everyone starts screaming.

\-----------------------------------

As soon as shitty Deku saw the horses, he squealed like it was christmas morning and immediately started cooing over them, petting their manes and feeding them sugar cubes from his hand. He giggled every time a wet tongue would run across his palm, eyes squeezing shut with the force of his chubby cheeks.

It’s fucking weird to see such a normal expression on his face when he’s dressed like...that.

Bakugou hadn’t realized how much the nerd had bulked up over the past 2 years. Yeah, compared to the other Tributes, they were basically ragdolls, but no matter how badly he wanted to deny it, the fucker had some muscle. Arms were stuck snugly in black latex, muscles moving under the every time his arm shifted. And his thighs were basically two goddamn tree trunks. His stupid greasy hair always hid his face, but now, slicked back and cleaned, he couldn’t help but notice the changes.

So much had changed since the last time he spoke to him.

Bakugou remembers when they were five and stupid, too young to know what death was yet and excitedly watching the games along with everybody else. He’d just developed his quirk, and the two of them had been so amazed, and still waiting for Deku to get his own Quirk. They talked about their favorite Victors, how cool they were, and colored on loose brown paper Aunti Inko gave them from her bakery, coming up with the costumes they would wear someday when they volunteered together. They played Tributes with the other children, where Bakugou would always declare himself the victor, Ground Zero, and Deku was his trusted side kick and loyal companion, and when the Bakugou’s could move into Victor’s village Deku and his mommy could come live with them too, (not Deku’s dad because he was mean and sometimes Deku and Auntie Inko had to stay over at his house and Deku wet the bed because he was so scared of going home the next morning,) but Kacchan got the bigger room and bathtub. Deku was perfectly fine with that. He was always happy about his Kacchan winning, and always helped him every step of the way until it came down to the two of them when everyone else had been defeated with sticks and tiny baby sparks from Bakugou’s hands. Bakugou would pretend to stab him, and Deku would lay down on the ground with everyone else because that’s what the losers in the games did, they just fell asleep like idiots, sometimes they even left their eyes open while they slept! And Bakugou would parade around the dirt clearing, avoiding the broken glass with the other kids cheering behind, and he and Deku would play pretend in the pretend Victor’s Village and dream of the day they’d get to live there together.

They always had to play in secret, because for some reason their mommy’s didn’t like it, with Bakugou thought was tupid because he liked winning, and the strong Victors always won because everyone else was stupid and fell asleep. But one day, Bakugou’s dad came home early from work because there’d been an accident in the mines and someone got stuck in the air shaft, and he caught them playing, Bakugou pretending to stab Deku and declaring himself the Victor.

To this day, it’s one of the scariest things that has ever happened to him; His sweet, gentle, quiet father, who always told him bedtime stories no matter how tired he was, and never hit Bakugou or Mommy like stupid Deku’s dad did, who was suddenly slapping him hard across the face and screaming, gripping his arms so hard he had bruises for weeks. 

“THEY DIE, KATSUKI! THEY FUCKING DIE! EVERY SINGLE PERSON WHO ENTERS THE GAMES DIES, AND THEY NEVER COME BACK! DO YOU WANT THAT? DO YOU FUCKING WANT TO DIE?”

Deku started crying, and that snapped Bakugou out of his shock and he started angry crying, and then Masaru was wrapping him in a bone cracking hug and just sobbing on the floor, apologizing over and over again, rocking him in his strong, soot covered arms right there on the kitchen floor. 

They stopped paying Tributes after that.

“You ready?” Mirko asks, making Bakugou blink. He shakes his head, trying to get the images out of his brain.

“All I gotta do is clap my hands, shouldn’t be that fucking hard.” He scowls.

She hums. “You’re gonna do great.” A strong hand squeezes his bicep reassuringly. He shrugs it off. 

“Of course I will, idiot.” He snaps.

“It’s showtime!” Midnight calls, and Aizawa finishes fiddling with the horse’s straps. Deku wipes his slobbery hands on his pants leg and jogs over.

There’s more than 5,000 people in that audience. He’s only got one shot at this, and if he fucks it up, that’s it. You only get one first impression.

Bakugou feels like throwing up.

Mirko leans an elbow on his head. “Breathe, kid.” He does, starts shaky and then breathes deep, exhaling slowly through clenched teeth. “Once the horses start moving, none of them matter. It’s just you. Show them how dangerous you are.”

“All set?” Aizawa asks. Deku’s already standing on the Chariot, looking his way with a small frown on his face. He scowls.

“You’ll be the last to enter, which means you’re going to be competing with everyone who came before you.” Midnight says. 

“You remember when you explode?” Aizawa prompts.

Bakugou nods, swallowing thickly. “Once we get the the third flag on the track, bam.”

Midnight frowns, looking to Mirko with concern. “Are you sure this is safe?”

“Totally!” She says, giant grin on her face, while shaking her head no. Midnight rolls her eyes.

Deku’s still staring at him. He offers a tiny wave, to which Bakugou flips him off.

“Let’s just get this shit over with.” He grumbles.

He refuses any help getting up on the chariot, slapping Deku’s hands away when they make to help pull him up. Up front, a horn blares, and screaming cheers can be heard through the exit of the tunnel.

“You ready?” Deku asks quietly. He looks nervous, back ramrod straight like in third grade when the teacher would smack you with a ruler if you slouched.

Bakugou snouts. “I was born ready, fucker.”

“Please don’t explode me.”

“No promises.”

The horses start moving, and with a final nervous glance at their teachers, they’re off.

They exit the tunnel, and immediately Bakugou has to squint against the onslaught of blaring lights and colors assaulting his vision.

He recognizes Present Mics voice, only vaguely making out what he’s saying, too focused on staying balanced and not falling off this fucking thing. They’re moving faster than he anticipated, and suddenly they’ve passed the fist flagpole. 

There’s a thrumming in his ears, throbbing and loud against the screams of the neon clad crowd, and he realizes it’s his heart beat, hammering against his ribs and splitting his ears. His palms start sweating, too much, and he tries to subtly wipe them off because he can’t fully control the new boost in his powers and he doesn’t wanna know what’ll happen with that much sweat on his palms and oh, they've passed the second flagpole, and people are screaming his name, oh god he can feel afucking panic attack coming on-

“Kacchan.” Oh. It’s Deku. No one’s screaming his name. “It’s okay.” He’s talking softly, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“I fucking know it is,” He growls through his teeth. God, he’s so fucking weak.

“And what do we have here, District four coming in with-are those fishnets? How fabulous!” Present Mic’s voice booms around him, and his eyes focus on the third flagpole up ahead.

“Ready?” Deku mumbles.

“Fuck you.” Bakugou growls, and he slaps his hands together, creating a deafening _boom _that rattles through the crowd, cutting Present Mic off mid fishing industry rant.

Bakugou opens his eyes when the gasps turn into screaming cheers. He hadn't even realized they were closed.

“Oh my god.” Deku’s eyes are wide, and unabashedly staring at him.

There’s fire streaming behind them, both of them, like capes flapping in the wind, starting at the shoulders of their costumes and going out, flicking sideways and licking at the oxygen in the air. He feels the back of his neck grow hot with the flames, sees Deku’s wide grin, feels his own smirk stretching across his face as the crowd cheer’s them on.

“See? Easy.” He says smugly, looking up to his his own victorious face reflected on the fifth flagpole.

“ARE YOU SEEING WHAT I’M SEEING!? IT’S DISTRICT TWELVE, COMING IN, FLAMING HOT!” Present Mic’s voice is booming over the speakers. “THAT’S BAKUGOU KATSUKI, QUIRK: EXPLOSION! HERE HE COMES, THE BOY ON FIRE!”

There’s a giddy feeling in his stomach, working it’s way up till he’s puffing out his chest, smirking at the crowds on either side of him, flexing out his hands to scatter sparks there way and making them shriek with joy. He flinches back when he feels a hand brush his, sees Deku looking at him with a hard glint in his eye.

“Come on, they’ll love it.” He says, small smile on his lips.

Bakugou rolls his eyes. It’s for the sponsors, for the shitty fucking sponsors. He let’s Deku take his hand, (calloused, small, gentle,) and Bakugou instinctively interlocks their fingers. Deku grins, and to his surprise, thrusts their joined hands into the sky. 

The crowd goes wild.

They’re still holding hands when they get off the chariot, Midnight rushing to gather them into her arms. “You both did so well! That was incredible, you stole the show!”

“That’ll make a damn good impression.” Mirko grins, leaning against the chariot, arms crossed. “Present Mic skipped five Districts to gush about the two of you.”

Bakugou catches Shindo’s eye, District Nine, on of the chariots Mic skipped in his amazement over Bakugou’s quirk. He sees him wave and smile. Bakugou tugs at Deku’s hand, lifting their joined fingers to flip him off with a smirk.

He forgets to let go for the rest of the night. Deku does too, if the way he’s clinging is anything to go by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link for the official artwork: https://theeggoman.tumblr.com/post/619907474545377280/commission-for-my-friend-from-her-awesome-fic-in


	6. If You Can't Take The Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OKAY, so I fucked up with my fic organization, and instead of chapter 3, the train chapter, going up, i accidentally filed it with my fem! Bakugou fic and updated straight from the reaping to the Capitol and the entire LONG train chaper got lost in transit. And i only realized it during my work break when i was rereading this and realized "wait, something is wrong!" So please, if you jave not yet read the train chapter, go back and read it! It is GOOD! Thank u and goodnight

Aizawa drops them off at the training center with a short but important pep talk.

"They will have weights, but don’t reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. They will have bows, but I don't want you practicing things you already know how to do. The plan’s the same for both of you. You go to group training. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you’re best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?” Aizawa says.

"The hell are we gonna do if we can't show off what we already know?" Kacchan growls in annoyance. They're in the elevator going down to the USJ level.

"You'll learn something." He says tiredly.

"These costumes are fucking stupid."

"They're not costumes, they're gym uniforms, and they only come in blue so you're either going to get used to it or show up naked for training every day."

"What about quirk training?" Izuku asks quietly. Will he even be allowed to join in?

"You can opt out of it if you'd like, but I don't think you should." Aizawa replies. "Just because you haven't started showing signs doesn't mean you're a lost cause."

"Don't fucking come." Kacchan growls, staring forward in determination. "It'll be a waste of everyone's goddamn time."

“One last thing." Aizawa adds. "In public, I want you by each other’s side every minute,” Kacchan starts to object, but Aizawa cuts him off with a strict look, hair flaring up slightly. “Every minute! It’s not open for discussion! You will be together, you'll act like best friends, you'll feed into the image everyone seems to have of the two of you. Now get out. Meet back at the Penthouse at 6:00 PM for dinner."

The other tributes are gathered in a tense circle when they walk in. Bakugou struts forward, head held high like he owns the place, canines out and ready to snarl at anyone who looks his way. Izuku trails after him nervously, trying not to freak out. His eyes can’t help flitting around to the other kids. It’s the first time they've all been assembled, not counting the chariot races, and he didn't have time to really analyze any of them because he was too focused on not passing out from how tight his costume was. Izuku's heart sinks; Almost all of the boys and at least half of the girls are bigger him, and even though none of them have been fed properly it still feels like a punch to the gut how different district 12 is from the rest of Panem. You can see it in their bones, their skin, the hollow look in their eyes. He sees brutality. The exceptions are the kids from the wealthier districts, the careers, the volunteers, the ones who have been fed and trained throughout their whole lives for this moment. 

"Stop fucking mumbling." Kacchan hisses, pinching the back of Izuku's hand. He swallows and tries to pay attention to what the head trainer is saying.

When it's time for them to split and begin training, Kacchan immediately goes to the Quirk Development station. He seems annoyed that Izuku followed him.

"The hell are you wasting your time over here for?" He snaps. "We've only got three weeks for you to learn something fucking _useful, _idiot!"

Izuku sets his jaw tight. "I'm _doing _something useful." He holds up the leather bound notepad that Midnight had gotten for him, and Kacchan scoffs.

"What are you gonna do, give 'em a paper cut and run away screaming?"

"I'm gonna study what their quirks are and find their weaknesses." He replies lightly, shoving past Kacchan to take his spot in line. Kacchan gapes at him, before scowling and stomping over.

All of the teachers here were former Victors, just like Aizawa. When Gang Orca stalks in, Izuku vibrates in excitement, and Kacchan has to smack him upside the head to get him to stop.

"You're here because even before you came off your inhibitors, your quirks were powerful." His voice booms loudly through the cavernous space. "In the next three weeks, your body will speedrun the course of quirk development, and the tentative control you've had over it will be all but eliminated."

"Gang Orca was a career from District 2." Izuku whispers excitedly to Kacchan, who tells him to shut up. "He won by paralyzing nine people and slitting their throats while they were immobile."

"I'm about to slit your throat if you don't shut up!" Kacchan hisses.

"My job is to teach you how to control it, utilize it, and weaponize it. By the time you enter the arena, you should have enough control not to kill yourself on accident, and with any luck, survive. Let's begin."

Izuku can't keep up with them, no matter how hard he tries.

The practical tests of speed, agility, and strength are all about how to use your quirk to amplify it, and Izuku doesn't have a quirk. He doesn't give up, but the absolute despair he feels every time he barely scratches the finishing line while everyone else is miles ahead of him is pitiful. And it's only the first day! Who knows how much stronger they're all going to become in the time between now and the games?

But he didn't come here to train for his quirk. He came here to study.

For the next week, Izuku spends half the training day memorizing flora and fauna, practicing tying fishing lures, using berries and leaves to make camaflougue patterns on his skin. His main focus is survival skills; What to do when temperatures go sub zero, how to find fresh water, how to make a medicinal salve for burns or cuts out of tree sap. For lunch, they all meet together in the cafeteria and Kacchan steals his food while Izuku lists off the proper techniques used for building a temporary shelter. The second half of the day, Izuku follows Kacchan to quirk training, running after him and practicing boxing against Victor Cementos and taking as many notes as he possibly can.

The careers are all there, (No surprise,) and they're strong. Theres a huge bear of a boy with a buzz cut and a giant smile on his face who can control wind, using it to knock people against walls and propel himself into the air or away from a sticky situation with lightning speed. There's a girl who can create things out of thin air, be it rope or a spear or a _freaking cannon _at one point. Another girl can transform her body into _anyone_. And then there's the heterochromatic boy, hair half red, half white, who can create ice.

They're fast, and smart, and strong. But Izuku's been paying attention.

"While there's nothing definitively wrong with his quirk, the District 2 boy actually gets frustrated really easily, and if you insult his honor he'll start yelling and his wind quirk shuts off immediately." Izuku says around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. They're back at the penthouse, Izuku reading his notes aloud as they shovel food into their starving mouths. "And the District 3 girl with the transformation quirk can only copy you if she's tasted your blood. Also, her acting skills aren't very good so even if she can look like anybody, if you actually know the person it's pretty easy to tell something's off."

"What about that chick who has to show her tits every time she makes something?" Kacchan asks, shoveling roasted carrots into his mouth.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, boys!" Midnight chastises. Aizawa is asleep at the foot of the table, strong smell of alcohol wafting off of him.

"She can only create things that she knows the exact genetic makeup of, and can't make anything living. So all food is out, I'm not sure about water yet. And she can only create a few things before getting exhausted, and has to eat a lot to get her energy back, which will be difficult in the arena."

"Don't forget to add "insecure little bitch" to her profile." Kacchan snorts. Midnight smacks him upside the head while Izuku writes that down. "And half n' half? He doesn't seem to have any fuckn' weaknesses. I've been trying to beat him all _weak _and the bastard just freezes me solid and moves on to the next fuck."

Izuku frowns. "Well, he _is _strong, but he doesn't seem very good at hand to hand combat. He relise too heavily on his quirk for everything. It makes the right side of his body drop rapidly in temperature, and since he doesn't have complete control over it yet, he keeps risking hypothermia or frostbite. And he refuses to use his left side for some reason."

"Hah? The fuck do you mean?"

"His fire quirk." Izuku pours himself another glass of cranberry juice. God, he loves juice. Juicy juicy juice. If he doesn't die, he's buying the whole of District 12 some juice. "If he used it to regulate his temperature, he could theoretically use both sides without stop. Plus, those flames could end the games in a second. Maybe it has something to do with his father."

He takes a big, happy gulp of his juice, before setting it down on the table, only to find three pairs of eyes staring at him in shock.

"What?" He asks innocently.

"_THE BASTARD HAS TWO FUCKING QUIRKS!?" _Kacchan roars, jumping to his feet and upending the table in furry. Izuku just barely manages to grab the bowl of mashed potatoes in time before everything goes crashing to the floor.

"BAKUGOU KATSUKI, HOW _DARE _YOU!" Midnight cries, frantically wiping marinara sauce off her lap. "These are designer!"

"It's rare, but not uncommon." Aizawa blinks, and his eyes go wide. "You said he was from District 1?"

Izuku nods nervously while Kacchan breaks dishes over his head in rage. "Yes, he's Endeavors son."

"WHAT!?" Kacchan rounds on him, plate poised and ready to throw.

"They-they announced it during the reaping!" Izuku squeaks.

"Not another one." Aizawa growls under his breath. There's a deep sadness in his eyes, and Izuku can understand why.

District 1 was the most well off of the Districts, and Endeavor was a legendary Volunteer who won by burning the entire arena down. He'd since gone on to have four children with another Victor, a woman who won three years after him with an Ice Quirk who survived by hiding the entire time in an Icy sub zero Tundra and waiting out everyone else freezing to death. 

Every single one of his children had Volunteered. So far, only one of them had won, and Touya went crazy and became a suicide bomber not long after that, killing 15 people in a crowded District 2 shopping center. He survived because of his quirk, but half the skin on his face and arms melted off, and he's been confined to a Capitol prison ever since.

"I don't know why he would want to volunteer." Izuku says sadly. He can't even imagine how painful his life must be. He already grew up in Victors Village, already lost 3 siblings. What was there to gain?

"For the fame or some shit." Kacchan spits out, dropping his plate in defeat. "Careers only care about the fame."

After dinner, Kacchan locks himself in his room, and even with the soundproof walls he can hear muffled explosions. Still training, even now. Looking for every possible way to win.

Izuku loves that about him. 

He settles into the window sill, notes spread out around him, and looks out at the city. The building where the tributes are kept is near the center of the it all, blocked out only by the President's home. He can see the skyscrapers kissing the stars, the neon signs and moving billboards, holograms selling eyeshadow and skin dying cremes. The cars wiz by in flashes of color on the streets below.

In History class, they learned that the Capitol was once called Tokyo. It was one of the greatest cities on the world, full of technological innovation and music and culture and food. And honestly...looking out at the skyline, it's beautiful. It's everything he imagined it would be.

There are probably people down there going about their lives, with hopes and dreams and aspirations. There's so much food he is yet to try, so much music he never got the chance to listen to. He's never seen the robots that clean their houses, never watched the lantern festival they throw every December.

But the people in the Capitol have never picked apples from the tree in October. They've never seen the Sakura blossoms in the spring.

His chest hurts. Never, never, never. He's going to die in the arena.

He jumps when the automatic door's slide open, and to his surprise, it's Kacchan. His fist is raised halfway, as if he was debating with himself whether or not he should knock before the motion detectors decided for him. Izuku smiles.

"Can't sleep?"

He tenses for a second, before relaxing and taking a step forward. "Fuckin' impossible. This city never sleeps. All that goddamn noise outside, don't these people have jobs?"

Kacchan has a towel wrapped around his shoulders, hair damp and dripping a bit, clad in fresh smelling sweatpants and a black tank top. He smells like clean soap and a bit like cinnamon from the nitroglycerin in his hands. Hands that are currently wrapped in bandages up to the wrist.

Izuku frowns. "You're overusing your Quirk."

"Fuck off!" Kacchan snaps. Izuku makes room for him on the window sill, and Kacchan slides on across from him, back against the makeshift wall. He pulls his knees up to his chest. " 'm not fuckin' weak."

"You could seriously burn yourself-"

"SHUT UP!" His voice is hoarse from screaming all day in training. Izuku knows what's eating at him, even if Kacchan could never admit it; The career's are strong. They've had years and years of training to learn how to control their quirks, how to use them in battle, and Kacchan only has three weeks.

But he's holding his own against them. He's so amazing.

"Don't you remember what Aizawa sensei said?" Izuku asks gently. "Your quirk is a weapon, and it can be used against you if you're not careful. You can't risk injuring yourself right now."

"Why? Because yopu're gonna magically save me in the arena?" He growls. "Shit head."

Yes. "No. You saw what happened to Endeavour's face from his flames. And Aizawa's eyes. And Best Jeanist's neck-"

"You haven't been doing weapons training." Kacchan grumbles. He's staring at the opposite wall, the shadows of the cars down below passing projected through the glass. Izuku blinks in surprise. He hadn't realized he'd been paying attention.

"No, I haven't."

"Why the fuck not, you quirkless idiot?" Kacchan snaps. "You gotta fucking protect yourself."

"I've been boxing-"

"What's that gonna do if the fucker has a knife?" He growls in annoyance. "That blonde freak, the chick who can transform into anybody. She's always got a goddamn knife on her." He starts fiddling with the edge of his bandage.

"Don't do that, you'll loosen them."

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"You seem to have no problem telling _me _what to do!" Izuku snaps, and he feels taken aback at his own anger. So does Kacchan. His red eyes narrow.

"Do you really think you'll make it through the games by not killing anybody?" He taunts in anger. "It's called the Hunger Games. Quirkless, Worthless, Deku."

"Don't call me that." He snaps again. "I'm not going to kill anyone."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because if I'm going to die, I want to still be me."

And there it is.

Kacchan looks at him. His eyes are beautiful, framed with long lashes, narrow and sharp and red. Everything about him is beautiful. He's so beautiful.

"Why did you have to volunteer." Izuku whispers. He doesn't mean to, it just comes out. "Why couldn't you just let me do this for you."

Kacchan bristles, hackles rising. "I don't need your fuckin' pity, you bastard."

"I don't pity you!" He shouts in exasperation. "I _never_ have, and you need to stop projecting your own insecurities on me!"

Kacchan stands up with a growl, and Izuku smells the sharp, burning scent of the fabric around his palms melting. "Why did _you_ volunteer, hah? Did you honestly think you could win? Do you think I'm _weak?"_

"I have never once thought that you were weak!" Izuku jumps to his feet, heart racing. He feels mad, feels like vomiting, feels like crying and sleeping and not waking up. "How many times do I have to tell you you're amazing before you finally believe me!? THIS IS WHY WE DON'T TALK ANYMORE!"

"REALLY? YOU'RE GONNA PUT THIS SHIT ON ME!?" Kacchan roars, sparks scattering across his palms like stars. Beautiful.

"I gave you time, because I thought you needed it. I kept my distance, because you kept pushing me away! I tried and I tried and you NEVER reached out to me-"

"TIME?! YOU GAVE ME _TIME!?_ YOU THINK _TIME _COULD HAVE CHANGED WHAT HAPPENED!" And Kacchan slaps his hands together, a giant fireball bursting into the air with a _**BOOM!**_

There's banging on the wall, someone (probably Aizawa sensei,) screaming at them to go to sleep, and all the fight goes out of him. Izuku crumples like a rag doll, limbs going boneless with a bitter sigh.

"I don't wanna fight with you." He doesn't. He never did in the first place.

Izuku walks over to his giant, plush bed, moving the covers back and crawling in on the left side, leaving the right unoccupied. Kacchan fidgets, all the energy from his anger suddenly diminishing and not knowing where to go.

Izuku smiles tiredly. "Well? Come on. It's late."

Kacchan fidgets some more. Every night, like clockwork, Kacchan knocks on his door, yells a bit, and then crawls into bed and passes out. Izuku knows that Kirishima and him share a bed at Auntie Mitsuki's house, and that he must miss the warmth and comfort of another person being next to him all the time. Izuku has his own bed, a nicer one in a nicer house and he knows how much better his life is than Kacchan's. He knows. A huge reason why Kacchan is always so quick to accuse him of looking down on him is because of how much more Izuku _has_. People from the Towns are still barely scraping by, but at least they're scraping.

He has known Kacchan all his life. How could he ever think of him as weak?

Izuku can't stand to see him so indecisive. "It's okay." He whispers. "Come on."

"Shut up." Kacchan mumbles. He doesn't look at him, just crawls up slowly and burries his head in the pillows. Izuku pulls the comforter up around him and scoots closer.

Kacchan blindly reaches out for his hand. It makes Izuku's heart ache, the gentle feeling along the covers for him, never saying anything but clinging tightly when he has it the way Kacchan always does. Izuku takes it, carefully avoiding the burnt areas of the bandage. Kacchan mumbles something into the pillows.

"What was that?" He whispers. He scoots closer. Kacchan turns his head with a huff, glaring.

"Get your goddamn ears checked!"

Izuku giggles. It's always 0-100 with him, isn't it? "Sorry."

It's quiet for a moment.

"I wanna still be me." Kacchan whispers. "I don't want these fuckers to take that away from me."

Izuku squeezes his hand. _Why did you have to volunteer, you beautiful idiot. Why couldn't you let me do this for you._ "You'll always be you. You're Kacchan."

\------------------------------------------------------

Aizawa pulls him aside in the morning and slaps him. _Hard._

And Bakugou hates it, fucking _hates _it, but there's a tiny twinge of fear in his stomach that he quickly squashes with rage.

"THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR, DICKHEAD!?" He screams, slapping his hands a second too late, Aizawa's quirk activating, and the explosion that should have destroyed the room is instead nothing more than a slap of sweaty skin and a scream of frustration.

"You haven't been training with Midoriya." He deadpans.

"He fucking follows me everywhere, what do you mean-"

"You leave him alone for half the day to develop your quirk training."

"HE DOESN'T HAVE A FUCKING QUIRK, WHAT THE HELL ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!?" His cheek stings, and _fuck_, he actually feels his eyes start to water a bit, and that makes him even angrier. He's just gotten so used to Aizawa being an actual _teacher _to him, a chronic alcoholic with a dry sense of humor and a genuine desire to _help_ him. He was _kind. _And he just slapped him. Bakugou's such an idiot, such an _idiot, _it's barely been a week away from home and he's already forgotten that you're not supposed to trust people.

"Stop crying." Aizawa says dryly.

"WHO'S CRYING, FUCK FACE? KILL YOURSELF!" He screams. He sounds like a child. He hates himself.

"I thought your pain tolerance was higher than that."

"FUCK YOU!"

"I'm not here to be nice, I'm here to keep you alive." Aizawa releases his quirk and sighs, long suffering. He looks exhausted. "I told you to stay by his side for a reason."

"And I told _you, _he's like a damn dog following me around! He's been that way ever since we were brats!" Deku trailing after him, twisting his hand in the fabric of Bakugou's shirt sleeve, _kacchan kacchan kacchan. _Pathetic. "I'm doing just fine without him!"

"You can't rely on only your quirk!" Aizawa snaps, eyes slitted in anger. "You're going to training too often, you're dead by the end of the day. You can't afford to burn yourself out before the games even begin!"

"Deku's fuckin' tired too-"

"Midoriya is getting stronger and smarter and one step ahead of the competition." Aizawa says. "He's _not _wearing his body to exhaustion, he's strengthening it."

"HE DOESN'T NEED TO, HE DOESN'T HAVE A GODDAMN QUIRK-"

"No more Quirk training."

Bakugou's hands explode. "_WHAT!?"_

"If you think Midoriya doesn't need it, than you don't need it either, because from here on out the two of you will be _by each other's sides _the entire time." Aizawa uncrosses his arms and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Please, just listen to me. We have a strategy-"

"What strategy? Making everyone think I'm weak by abandoning my Quirk control and what, picking berries? I know how to fucking hunt!" He screams. His throat hurts from overuse. His arms are heavy from Gang Orca's exercises. His palms feel hot constantly, molten at times, and Midnight's been wrapping them in bandages with medical solvent every night to keep them from getting worse. "You're the one that told us not to do things we already know how to do!"

"Than do it for once! Learn how to throw a spear! Learn how to dress a wound!" Aizawa's voice is raising too, quirk unconsciously flaring while his hair floats uncertainly. "Learn CPR! But do it with Midoriya by your side!"

"WHY!" He screams. "Fucking tell me why!"

"Because he's smarter than you give him credit for!" He yells back, fingers twitching, like they're looking for a drink that isn't there. Drown your sorrows in booze.

"We both know that's not your reason! Is this about the goddamn sponsors?"

"NO!" Aizawa closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. "Yes, it's about the sponsors. But it's more than that."

He knew it. "I fuckin' knew it. Now are you gonna let us in on your plan, or keep pretending your fucking protecting us when we're about to goddamn die in fourteen days."

Aizawa flinches, just barely. "Midoriya can't know."

Bakugou smirks. "Mother fucker can't keep a secret for shit."

"The capitol does not like you."

Bakugou frowns.

"The hell are you talkin' about? Mirko literally told me they loved us. We're the Volunteer's of District 12 or whatever, I thought the sponsors were eating that shit up-"

"It's not the people. The crowds love you. It's the Capitol itself."

"Did you get dropped on the head as a goddamn infant?"

Aizawa looks like he wants to strangle him. "The game keepers didn't appreciate your little stunt at the reaping."

Bakugou freezes. The Capitol.

President All for One didn't like him.

Bakugou swallows. "The fuck did I do?"

Aizawa sighs. "You volunteered anyway, even after your place was taken by Midoriya. The Capitol saw it as an act of defiance."

Oh fucking hell.

"And you bit a peace keepers ear off."

"The motherfucker had it comin'."

"Of course he did." Aizawa deadpans. "They love Midoriya, and right now your bad boy persona is working in your favor, but _only _if you're with him. You cancel each other out. Instead of looking like an asshole, you look like an overprotective friend. It's the difference between being endearing and annoying. So when I say be with him all the time, I mean _all the goddamn time. _If he needs to take a piss, you're standing in the next urinal."

"Kinky."

"Shut up." He snaps. "Bakugou Katsuki, you are such a piece of work. Goddamn it. This would be so much easier if I just didn't care." He closes his eyes again, and this time he can't stop the urge and yanks his flask out of his pocket, taking a quick swig to calm his nerves. Bakugou feels his ears get a bit pink, (not that he'd ever fucking admit it.) "You could win this thing. Fuck, for the first time in my life I feel like I've got hope, and it's over a goddamn angry chihuahua." He shoulders his way past Bakugou and collapses onto a plush arm chair, body melting against the fabric.

Bakugou swallows. His hands are sweating to much, and he can feel them crackling, the smell of burnt sugar stinging his nose. He wipes them off on his gym pants.

Aizawa takes another swig. "The game keepers want to kill you off fast. They're watching you in practice. The whole _world_ is watching you. I'm not gonna make you be charming, 'cause that would just kill you both, and probably me too from the stress. You need to convince the game keepers that you volunteered to protect Midoriya, your childhood friend."

"He's not my friend-"

"Stop being an idiot, yes he is. You need to convince them that you care for him, that he's so important to you that you would do anything to save his life, even if it means trading your own in the games."

"That's not what I-"

"Don't you dare lie to me." He looks at him, eyes deep and angry, and Bakugou remembers that kid, with the sound quirk, another tribute that Eraserhead befriended in the arena, who he watched die and could do nothing to save him.

Aizawa sighs. "The people watching at home need to think you two are inseparable. Play up the childhood friend angle more, make them think that you like the same foods and know each other's favorite colors and have an _unshakable_ brotherly bond-"

"How the fuck is that gonna keep the fuckers from killing me off?" Bakugou asks incredulously. 

"They're not gonna kill a fan favorite, it's bad T.V." Aizawa mutters. "If you get the crowds to like you, you'll get the keepers to keep you alive."

_Fuck. _God, he hates this.

"Just tolerate it. I've already had this talk with Midoriya. Minus the whole All for One hating you."

"All for One doesn't hate Deku?"

"Nope. You're just special like that."

Bakugou skips Quirk Training in the morning.

"You don't have to, Kacchan, I know how much stronger your quirk is getting, you need to focus on control-"

"Will you fuck _off _already? We're going in the damn afternoon, shit head." He growls in annoyance. "I know you haven't been doing any goddamn weapons training."

Deku looks away in discomfort. "I'm not very good at it."

"That's why I'm here, idiot!" Bakugou smacks him upside the head, making him yelp. 

"But you need to learn-"

"Aizawa fuckin' found out we've been training separately." He grumbles under his breath. "He got pissed."

Deku winces. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize, loser." He goes to knock him again, but Deku ducks just out of reach, popping up again with a giggle. "Just don't embarrass me in front of the cameras."

The cameras showed up yesterday, and it's driving Bakugou mad. A bunch of shitty edgy Capital reporters, silently following them with giant metal magic boxes, speaking quietly with Gang Orca so they can get specific shots of that Todoroki bastard using his ice. They never say anything, just walk around taking pictures or videos. He realizes Aizawa must've known he was training on his own this whole time, but didn't mention it until now because _now _it's being broadcasted across the whole goddamn country. Gotta make it on the fan favorite list so that the wolves don't descend.

The three weeks that lead up to the Games are full of filler shit. They interview the families and friends of the tributes, visit the Districts and show off the homes. He's always hated the cameras, the reporters that bring grieving mothers to tears with their invasive questions. It serves as a constant reminder of how much surveillance they're under. It's a reminder that those kids chosen are gonna die out there.

He remembers, about three years ago. There was another ice user with white hair, like the half n' half bastard. They visited victors village and interviewed Endeavor in the lush estate. He had three houses there, one for each victor in his family. A beautiful garden, traditional old furniture, fresh oranges on the table. They showed footage of the Volunteer training at the USJ, using his quirk to freeze half the other tributes solid.

He died on the third day, trying to save a twelve year old from getting raped by members of his own Career pack. 

Bakugou growls at one of the reporters, who yelps at the hatred in his eyes and points her fancy ass camera somewhere else. "Now wipe that shit off your arm and lets go."

The weirdo is at the camouflage station, and is genuinely seeming to enjoy it, swirling a combination of mud and clay and berry juices around on his freckled skin, weaving disguises from vines and leaves. 

"How'd you do that?" Bakugou asks gruffly, pointing. Deku beams at him.

“I do the cakes,”

"The cakes? What cakes?”

“At home. The iced ones, for the bakery,” he says. Oh. He means the ones they display in the windows. Fancy cakes with flowers and pretty girly shit painted in frosting. They’re for birthdays and New Year’s Day. When they go to the town square, Kirishima always drags Bakugou over to admire them, as if they'd ever be able to afford one. There’s barely anything beautiful in the fucked up world they live in, so Bakugou can't deny him the simple pleasure of looking at a fuckin' cake.

“If only you could frost someone to death,” Bakugou says sarcastically.

“Don’t be so superior." Deku chastizes. "You can never tell what you’ll find in the arena. Say it’s actually a gigantic cake -” 

"Fuck off." Bakugou looks more critically at the design on Deku’s arm. The alternating pattern of light and dark suggests sunlight falling through the leaves in the woods. "That ain't frosting, idiot. It's leaves n' dirt."

"It's paint." Deku insists, moving his wrist forward and back to show how the light ripples through the colors. "You can make it out of anything. Here, you try!" He grabs another makeshift brush, a twig with bits of his own dark green hair ties to one side, and dips it in a mixture of black berries and orange clay crushed with water.

"How do you know that any of this shit is gonna be in the arena?" Bakugou snaps.

Kacchan quirks an eyebrow at him in annoyance. "You never pay enough attention during the games."

"I'm not a pervert like you."

Deku rolls his eyes. "All of the plants and animals used in training are going to be in the arena." When Bakugou doesn't take his crummy brush, he grabs his arm in a tight grip, pulling it down and ignoring the small warning explosion that goes off in his hand. Bakugou can use his quirk without rubbing his hands together now; For the really big explosions he's still gotta slap 'em together, but the small sparks he could make before are now all out booms. It's fucking exhilarating.

Deku starts painting on Bakugou's arm, avoiding his bandages. He's still surprised at what a strong grip the asshat has now. He used to just blow over like a twig, but it's clear lugging hundred pound bags of flour half a mile from the market to his house all the time has given the twerp some muscle. "I've been taking notes of what kinds of plants are at the identification station, and it's mostly things you'd find in a north western forest. And the kinds of traps they're teaching us how to make are for things like foxes and Ezo Naki, so small mammals and rodents. And _this," _he says, dipping his brush into a mossy green color, before continuing on painting Bakugou's arm, "is made of Tobata Ayame leaves, Makinoi root, and Sakura petals."

Bakugou looks up at him in with wide eyes. "You're shitting me."

Deku smiles slightly, but he's looking at one of the armed guards stationed at the entrance with a hard look in his eyes. "I know, I'm learning so much here!"

_We're being monitored. _

Bakugou's not a fucking idiot. He knows that if these Capitol fucks found out he'd gone into the forest beyond the District fence, there'd be hell to pay. They'd whip Eijirou bloody, put his mother in prison, ransack their house for contraband (of which there was a shit ton.) And god knows what would happen to Auntie Inko. She was barely hanging on to her bakery as it was.

But the fact that there was a chance the arena was gonna be anything like the woods back home...

"Look, it's starting to blend." Deku squeezes his wrist slightly, and Bakugou looks down to see his arm almost indistinguishable from Deku's painted one. He looks up at him, heart pounding from the new information tumbling around in his head.

"You crazy son of a bitch." Bakugou grins, baring his teeth like a mad dog. Deku's chubby cheeks are scrunched up in a matching one. His grip on his wrist tightens.

"Hey, don't talk about my mother that way!" Deku teases, twinkle in his eye.

"Auntie Inko? You fuckin' kidding me? I was talkin' bout your dad."

"Oh, then by all means carry on."

Bakugou laughs, full and deep and he hasn't felt _relief _in so long it makes his chest ache.

Suddenly a bright light flashes, and Bakugou whips his head around to see a reporter slowly lowering her camera.

"THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT FOR, YOU DIRTY BITCH!" He roars. "DELETE THAT SHIT!"

She squeaks, and someone laughs to his right. Bakugou turns his attention on the freak with the _audacity _to laugh at him.

"Something funny, asshole?" He snaps. 

"Oh, just admiring the view." Not this fucking guy.

"Oh! You're from District 7!" Deku pipes up. "You can copy other people's quirks!"

The blond haired dickwad smiles cooly, leaning against their work station with ease. "I thought I recognized you from somewhere. You're the little Quirkless boy who's always following loud mouth around."

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME!?" He yells, and Deku tightens his hold on him to keep him from murdering this extra right now.

He just smiles. "I'm Monoma. What about you two?"

"Like we'd fuckin' tell a nobody like you." He snaps.

"Kacchan, stop it!" Deku hisses. He smiles tiredly at the bitch that just _insulted _him, Deku's such an _idiot. _"I'm Izuku Midoriya, and this is Bakugou."

"I thought it was Kacchan." He teases. Bakugou's hands spark, and this time Deku actually has to let go with a yelp because his whole arm is burning hot.

"Call me that again and you're gonna find your head farther up your ass than it already is." He growls. He turns to Deku, glaring. "I told you not to fuckin' talk to the extras, shitty Deku!"

Monoma's eyes go wide. "Oh, so that's where I recognized you!" He steps closer, lets his arms unfold. "You're the tributes of District 12!"

"Big fucking deal, now shove it." 

"Ignore him, he's bad with people."

Monoma smirks. "Didn't you bite someone's ear off during the reaping?"

Bakugous smile is cruel. "You wanna be next?"

"_Kacchan, stop it!" _Deku hisses. Bakugou pinches his arm, making him stomp on Bakugou's foot. He scowls and Deku sticks out his tongue.

"You make an odd pair, the two of you." Monoma smirks. "Volunteering for a childhood friend. Childhood friend volunteering for you. You _do_ realize that even if it comes down to the two of you, someone is going to die, right?"

"My money's on the quirkless." Another boy, half his face made if jagged teeth, comes up and leans his elbow on Monoma's shoulder. "He won't last 48 hours."

"Really? I was going more for the first 12 myself." 

Deku reaches his hand out to squeeze Bakugou's before he can blast these fuckers away. They're running hot, hotter than ever, and he can see the smoke curling into the air out of the corner if his eye, yet Deku doesn't let go because he has no self preservation. There's a low rumbling sound pounding in his ears, and it takes him a minute to realize it's a growl climbing its way out if his chest.

"Aw, look! They're holding hands!" The toothy fuck coos, and they start laughing mockingly.

"I'd stay away from blasty if I was you, Quirkless." Monoma smirks. "He'll fuck you the second he gets you alone. If he doesn't kill you first."

"No one wants to die a virgin, _Quirkless, worthless,_ _Deku_." Toothy says.

Bakugou is going to kill them.

He's going to rip out their throats out with his teeth.

Deku's grip on his arm tightens. "Don't." He whispers. "The guards are right there."

"I'll kill them too." He growls. "Talk shit, get hit."

"This isn't elementary school. If you try and harm them outside of training, you'll get tazed and locked up until the games start, and all the other districts would have two more weeks of training that you _don't._"

"Aw, he's holding his guard dog back by the scruff of his neck." Monoma coos. "Down, puppy."

"DO YOU WANNA FUCKING DIE!?" Bakugou takes a menacing step forward, but Deku doesn't let go of him. His fingers are trembling.

There's another flash of light, and he sees another _goddamn reporter _lowering his camera. The only reason he doesn't blast the motherfucker to kingdom come is because of the guards standing not ten feet away, looking at him with cold detachment. One of them places their hand on the handle of their gun. His palms are crackling in fury. Fuck, the fabric wrapping them is burning again.

"Kacchan." Deku warns. "They're being assholes, they aren't worth it." Deku is cradling his hand in a gentle palm, covered in blisters from training, knuckles healed over and scared from breaking them one too many times when they were kids.

As much as it fucking pains him to admit it, the little shit's right. If he gets locked up for the rest if training, the other tributes will be lightyears ahead of him when they finally enter the arena. Deku's hand squeezes his reassuringly.

"Next time I see you, you're dead." He growls. Deku starts dragging him away, but Bakugou turns back at the last second, feral smile on his face.

"And he's not a virgin." He can feel Deku jolt from where there hands are connected. "Stop projecting your own insecurities on other people, dickhead."

Toothy chokes on his spit.


	7. Purple Haired Boys and Disappearing Girls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's been such a long time since my last update, I hope this long chapter and some new character introductions will be enough to tide you guys over!!! I already have so many ideas for my next chapter too, it is literally gonna blow your mind! I hope you enjoy, thank you for reading! Comment down below any ideas you have!

Izuku is not an inherently violent person.

At least, he tries not to be. He takes after his mother in many ways, a soft sweet woman who loves with her whole heart and flinches at loud noises. He tries not to be, because he remembers a faceless man that he tries to forget, who beat his mother and hated him, who got drunk too often until it inevitably killed him and eleven other people in the mines when he came to work drunk and didn't operate the equipment right. 

He tries not to be. He _ tries. _

But there's a reason why his best friend for most of his life was a violent, angry, insane boy with an explosion quirk who thought freezing snowballs and throwing the ice at eachother was a more fun way to play.

And that is because, deep down under his insecurities and low self esteem, Izuku Midoriya just wants to punch some shit.

And right now, he wants to punch Monoma in the face.

"Ignore him." Izuku grinds out through clenched teeth. "Just ignore him, Kacchan."

"I'm gonna rip his fucking spleen out." Kacchan sounds like he's gargling broken glass with how clenched his jaw is.

"That's illegal, Kacchan."

"As soon as we're in the ring, he's my first kill."

"I thought you said Todoroki kun was your first kill?"

"Ha! That crusty ass bitch wishes he was that important."

"He's your second, right?"

"He's my second."

"Aw, they're plotting together!" Monoma exclaims, shark teeth laughing obnoxiously next to him. "Couple goals!"

Kacchan lets off a small explosion in his hand, startling Izuku and making him squeak.

“Just eat your lunch.” Izuku begs.

“Yeah, Kacchan! Just listen to your boyfriend!” The kid with the sharp teeth laughs.

“YOU WANNA GO, PRETTY BOY!?” He turns around and screams, causing a flurry of grumbling and snickers from the other tables.

“Awe, you think I’m pretty?” Tooth looks genuinely touched at the compliment.

“I wasn’t talking to you, shark teeth!”

“Careful, Bakugou,” Monomo smirks. “You wouldn’t want to make your boyfriend jealous.”

Izuku narrows his eyes. “As if I’d ever be jealous of a conceited _ asshole _who cares more about bothering people than noticing that your foods being stolen.”

“What!?” Monoma whips his head around, shrieking when suddenly he’s face to face with a twelve year old girl dangling from the ceiling.

She screams right back, dropping the apple she’d grabbed fright into a bowl of oatmeal, making the contents splash over the sides of the bowl. Monoma falls backwards out of his chair in shock.

“Who the fu- how long has she been there!?” He tries to grab her, but suddenly the white fabric tied around her middle is yanked upwards, ricocheting her back into the ceiling with a yelp, disappearing into darkness as the tile is moved back into place.

“About five minutes.” Izuku glares, Kacchan trying to keep down the laughter bubbling up from his throat.

“I thought you knew.” Shark teeth frowns at him.

“Fucking freak.” Monoma mumbles. He turns toward the ceiling and cups his hands around his mouth before yelling, “YOU’RE GONNA DIE, FREAK! IF I DON’T KILL YOU IN THE CORNUCOPIA THE ANIMALS WILL!”

The tile is moved to the side again, a dead eyed kid who looks like he hasn’t slept in a week popping out. His purple hair is swept back and up, as if he just stuck a fork in an electrical socket.

“That’s a bit rude, you haven't even bought us dinner yet and you’re already threatening to kill us.” He says dryly. The sound of giggling comes from behind him.

“Oh, if it isn’t the quirkless freak from district eleven!” Monoma growls. He turns to grin wildly at Izuku. “I guess the shit districts get the shit tributes, huh?”

“You’re here too, bitch boy!” Kacchan yells.

A little blonde head pops up beside the District 11 boy, her horn barely visible behind her hair. She leans close and whispers something into his ear, making him smirk.

“Eri asks why you’re such a poopy head.”

“ERI CAN FUCK OFF!”

“Hey. Why are you such a poopy head?”

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLING A-” Monomo suddenly goes silent, his entire body going slack, eyes wide and unfocused. The table he’s sitting at starts whispering frantically.

“Good boy.” Purple hair guy smirks. “Now I want you to stand on the table, pull your pants down, and yodel the Panam national anthem.”

To everyone’s great surprise, and the clear confusion of the guards, Monoma stands on the table, pulls his pants down, and starts to yodel.

“What the actual fuck.” Kacchan can’t even laugh, staring in disgust as the guards try and wrestle him down.

Izuku gasps in excitement, looking back up at the two kids watching in amusement from their spot in the ceiling. “Your quirk was dormant!”

He blinks at them slowly, Eri nodding excitedly next to him. “Yeah. I thought I didn’t have one, ‘till I dared Mirio senpai to give recovery girl a strip tease and he actually _ did _ it.”

“She tipped me $100!” A voice calls excitedly, and Izuku’s jaw hits the ground.

“LE-LE-LEM-MMMMM-LEMILLION!???” Izuku’s whole face goes red in excitement.

“Hey, that’s last year’s Victor!” A girl whispers.

The lunch hall erupts into chaos as tributes and photographers alike swarm him for autographs, the charismatic blond laughing boldly and posing as the interviewers trip over themselves to get him on camera.

The purple guy rolls his eyes. “The bastard insisted on taking over for Sir Nighteye after the reaping. His enthusiasm makes me gag.”

The shared hatred for happiness seems to perk Kacchan up a bit. He squints up at the two of them. “You got some kinda mind control quirk, zombie head?”

“Kacchan, don’t be rude!” Izuku hisses. Kacchan pinches his elbow.

Purple guy grins evilly. “Why, do you wanna find out?”

“Come on, Shinsou! That’s unsportsmanlike!” Lemillion laughs, wiping red lipstick off his cheek with a handkerchief. He grins at Izuku, who is trying to remember how to breath.

“Isn’t that the point?” Shinsou grumbles moodily.

“Shinsou up there has a wicked mind control quirk! We’re still testing it’s limitations, but so far he can get anyone to do anything as long as...well, we’re still figuring it out!” Mirio sticks out his hand, shaking Izuku’s whole arm like a noodle. “It’s an honor to meet you, Izuku! What you did at the reaping was very brave!”

“Th-th-thank you!” Izuku squeaks. Kacchan rolls his eyes. “I-I-I’m a b-big f-fan! Your quirk is incredible, Lemillion, sir!”

“Please, call me Mirio!” And then he _ winks. _

While Izuku’s dying, Kacchan is apparently trying to manifest lazer vision and burn holes into Mirio’s face. “The fuck do you want, Pippin?”

Mirio smiles. “I’m just here to collect my tributes! The guards told me you’re not allowed in the ceiling anymore!”

“Boo, traitor!” Shinsou booed, Eri mimicking him with a giggle. “Join us, we’ve got snacks.”

“I’m serious, guys! They keep finding candy wrappers up there! We’re gonna get mice!”

“We have snickers.”

That gives Mirio pause. “How big?”

“Fun size!” Eri calls out from the hole.

“Fun size?” Mirio fakes offense, much to the delighted giggles of Eri. “Do I _ look _ like I’m fun size??”

“Lemillion.” One of the guards snap, and Mirio’s posture goes rigid, eyes hard. He looks up at Shinsou, who just sighs and closes the tile back over the hole.

“They’ll be right down, sir.” Mirio says, voice devoid of all the warmth it carried before.

“They better be. Those parasites keep stealing food and scaring the kids.” He grunts.

“Oh, so they’re acting like you?” Kacchan leers.

That was the wrong thing to say.

The guard stomps over furiously, grabbing Kacchan by the front of his shirt and slamming him flat against the table. “What the _ fuck _did you just say to me, faggot!?”

“Sir, he was just joking, you know how teenagers are-” Mirio pleads, eyes flitting back and forth frantically.

“I said all you do is steal our shit and get off from fear,” Kacchan spits, teeth bared. His hands pop dangerously, eyes wild. “Maybe if you got layed once in your fat fuxking life you wouldn’t have to jerk it to little kids-”

Kacchan’s cut off by the guard punching him across the teeth, slamming him down against the table in fury. “That’s it, you’re going into solitary for the next week until the games-”

“No!” Shark teeth yells, standing up from his table slowly as to not startle the other guards standing around them. “Please, dude, you can’t do that to him, it ain’t fair-”

“Shut the fuck up, District five!” He snaps, not taking his eyes off Kacchan, who’s choking on the blood pouring into his mouth from his nose. “This brat needs to learn a goddamn lesson.”

“He’s just a kid, _ please-” _Mirio begs.

“Do it, pussy. You won’t.” Kacchan grins manically. “No balls.”

He spits the blood up into the peace keepers face.

“That’s enough!” A voice booms, and all eyes go to the entrance way.

“Endeavour! Thank god.” Mirio rushes over to the Victor, flames burning bright enough to heat the metal walls surrounding him. “Bakugou didn’t mean it, I swear-”

“DID TOO-” Kacchan starts, but he’s cut off by the peacekeeper choking him.

“Endeavour, this little shit has been nothing but disrespectful-”

“I said _ enough!” _He bellows, flames burning brighter, and the peacekeeper begrudgingly lets Kacchan go, who immediately starts hacking his lungs out.

“That means you too, boy.” Endeavour glares at Izuku, who looks around in confusion.

“What?” 

“It’s okay, Izuku.” Mirio placates. “You can put the knife down.”

Izuku looks down, strangely calm, too see he’s gripping the giant carving knife that was originally sitting next to the Turkey. His knuckles are white.

He drops it with a clatter and rushes to Kacchan’s side.

“Breathe, Kacchan, just breath-” He rubs Kacchan’s back, ignoring his elbowing attempts to get him to back off. “We need to get Aizawa, I think your nose is broken.”

“No fucking shit, nerd! And I don’t need your goddamn help, get the fuck off of me!” He slaps Izuku’s hands away, sitting back heavily on his butt with a groan. He pinches the bridge of his nose and tilts his head back.

“This is your only warning, twelve.” The peacekeeper snaps, before stalking away angrily to wipe the blood off his face.

“Thank you, Endeavour.” Mirio says, relieved. “If you hadn’t come by-”

“I didn't do it for you, boy.” He glares, booming voice sharp enough to cut. He turns to Kacchan, looking down his nose at him. “You. Try and pull something that stupid again and I’ll _ let _them lock you up till the games begin.”

“I didn’t need your goddamn help!” Bakugou snaps, flipping him off without looking, so his finger is actually pointing towards a scandalized Mirio.

“Clearly, you’re too weak to handle a simple peacekeeper.” The condescension drips from his tone. Izuku feels his hackles rise. “But compared to the rest of these children, your quirk has potential.”

“Get to the point already, old man!” Kacchan snaps, nasally, as Izuku has begun to stuff tissue up his nose.

“I want you to ally yourself to Shouto Todoroki.”

Izuku is so shocked he accidentally rips a tissue out of Kacchan’s left nostril, making him curse as blood squirts out onto his t-shirt.

“The Icy Hot bastard!?” He asks.

“But-but he’s a career!” Izuku looks around for a sign of Todoroki, but comes up blank. He can see Shinsou and Eri peeking at them from around the corner, white scarves that look suspiciously like Aizawa’s wrapped around their necks. “He’s been trained by _ you! _We’re just...I mean, Kacchan is amazing, but-”

Endeavour sneers. “In case it wasn’t obvious, the offer does not extend to your quirkless associate.”

Kacchan bristles, jumping to his feet and glaring. The tissue in his nose does dampen the effect, the intention is clear: “Fuck off.”

Endeavour narrows his eyes. “You’re not stupid, Bakugou. Your power would be wasted with some powerless child. Shoto is my masterpiece. If you joined him, the two of you could take the cornucopia together within the first twenty minutes.”

“I don’t need some _ Daddy’s boy’s _ help!” Kacchan screams, hands popping. Shark teeth takes a step back in shock. “I’m gonna fucking win, on my own!”

“I’m offering you the chance to become a legend-”

“Yeah, a _ dead _ legend!” Kacchan growls. “I thought you said I wasn’t stupid? The hell do you think’s gonna happen if I partner with a goddamn district 1 _ career _!?”

“And what about your partnership with this _ quirkless _nobody?” Endeavour roars, eyes flashing. “You know what’s going to happen. No quirkless tribute has ever won the games.” 

To Izuku’s shock, Kacchan grabs his hand, fingers locking together, and with blood in his teeth, grins. “Then I’ll die with him.”

\-------------------------------------------

One thing about being an antisocial asshole that Bakugou never really took into consideration was that there might be someone out there who was an even _ bigger _ asshole than him, who could warp his insults into something he never intended and potentially fuck up his life forever.

Now being one of those times.

"Why do the news crews think you fucked Bakugou." Aizawa asks Deku the second the elevator door opens, making the little shit splutter and go red as a tomato. 

"WHAT!?" Bakugou shrieks, palms sparking.

Aizawa glares. "Look." 

He points towards the living room, where the flat screen is displaying the first footage of training that was shot yesterday. They hurry over, Bakugou launching himself over the back of the couch with a blast, making Midnight shriek from where she's sitting.

On the TV is a picture of the two of them, leaning over the training table across from each other, Deku holding Bakugou’s arm to paint it. They’re staring at each other, grinning ear to ear.

“When the shit did they take _ that?” _Mirko cackles. She’s piled up on the couch with blankets and a bowl of popcorn.

“STOP FUCKING ENJOYING THIS!!” Bakugou screeches, embarrassed beyond belief. Deku’s being unreasonably quiet.

A female announcer is commenting on the picture: “The childhood friends of District 12 stole our hearts at the reaping, but have they also stolen each others?”

“I DIDN’T STEAL SHIT!” Bakugou yells. Aizawa takes a long swig from his flask.

“Bakugou Katsuki, also known as “Kacchan” by his fellow tribute, the bad boy with a fiery temper and an even hotter quirk, staked his claim over Izuku “Deku” Midoriya yesterday during a training altercation between District 5 Tributes Monoma Neito and Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu!”

Aizawa whips his head around. “You got into a fight?”

“I did _ NOT!” _

“Stop making enemies before the games even begin!” He looks like he’s about to pass out.

“He didn’t! Those boys were being really rude!” Deku said.”

“I’m not asking you, problem child.” Aizawa deadpans.

_ “Problem child?” _Deku squeaks.

The announcer continues, this time showing footage of Bakugou using his quirk in training to blow up the cannon that creation girl sprung out of nowhere: “This explosive teen might have one of the strongest quirks we’ve seen in nearly two decades!”

The camera switches to Present Mic, alongside one of the trainers from District 5 who looks about ten feet tall, and just as wide.

“Now Mic, you’ve been a big fan of Bakugou ever since the chariot race, haven’t you?” The fat guy asks.

“That’s correct!” Mic shouts excitedly. “Bakugou uses Nitroglycerin that he sweats to create contained explosions from the palms of his hands! With a spark like that, he’s sure to blow the competition away, literally!”

“Damn right.” Bakugou grunts. Aizawa flicks his ear.

“He’s got a manly heart, that’s for sure!” The fat guy laughs, his belly jiggling with the force of it, head thrown back. Does he even _ have _a neck? “But from what I’ve seen in his training, that pride could be his downfall. A lot of times kids with powerful quirks don’t know how to control them once they go off inhibitors, and it can be more than their bodies can handle. That kid’s been gettin’ serious burns on his hands from the force of his blasts, not to mention how that recoil could affect his aim.”

“Oi, who’s the fat fuck with Mic?” Bakugou asks, furious. How _ dare _ he criticize him!? It’s not _ his _fucking fault that the goddamn capital was so scared of his power that they’ve been forcing drugs into his bloodstream ever since it manifested-

“What? That’s Fatgum!” Mirko snaps. “How the hell can you not know who he is?”

“He won the games a few years after Shouta.” Midnight says off handedly, eyes glued to the screen. “It was an uproar in the capitol. People lost millions in the betting pools because everyone thought that career from District 1 was going to win.”

“Betting pools?” Deku asks.

“Gambling rings.” Aizawa grunts. “Capital citizens bet on who they think will live, who they think will die, who they think will fuck.”

Bakugou feels queasy.

“His Victor name is Fatgum.” Deku says. “His quirk is fat absorption; Everyone thought he was quirkless until a week into training when his body suddenly expanded from skin and bones into the size of a balloon. The arena he was in was a desert, with an oasis at the cornucopia that the careers got ahold of within the first twelve minutes. He survived until the end mostly because everyone else starved out.”

Bakugou turns his head to look at him. “Mostly?”

Deku fidgets, looking at the sweet smiling man on T.V who looked like he weighed 800 pounds. “Well...his quirk meant he could absorb sharp things like swords and stuff, so when people attacked him it just sunk in and disappeared in his body, and he could spit it back out once he’d run away.”

“What about that District 1 guy?”

Deku squirms uncomfortably.

“He ate him.” Aizawa says.

Oh.

Bakugou looks back at the screen, at how casually Present Mic and Fatgum are laughing together. Now that he really looks, he can recognize that baby blonde hair. He remembers the games a little bit. He thinks Deku cheered for him, liked the idea that you could have a quirk but just not know about it. They watched right up until the end, but his dad took him out of the house to peel potatoes for dinner and they missed the finale.

His Dad never let him rewatch it to find out what happened.

“And I like this Deku character!” Fatgum exclaims. “He’s got some real spirit, ain’t afraid to call Bakugou out on his shit!”

“I cried when he volunteered for him at the reaping!” Mic says. “And then I _ sobbed _when Bakugou refused to let him go alone!”

“A friendship like that doesn’t come along everyday, I’ll tell ya that.” Fatgum says. “I’m tellin’ ya, I see ‘em in training every now and then, and they’re stuck to each other like glue! Bakugou’s the brawn, and Deku’s the brains!”

“It’s ‘cause you ain’t got none.” Mirko stage whispers, and Bakugou aims an explosion at her head.

“This is good.” Aizawa nods, contemplative. “We can work with this, maybe it’s not as bad as-”

Suddenly the female announcer's voice comes back on screen, cutting the two Victors off. Their mouths are still moving, so the audio must just be muted: “But is their friendship more than what meets the eye?”

Another picture pops up on screen, and this time Bakugou feels his whole face get red.

It’s him and Deku when that loud mouthed freak Monoma showed up. He’s standing half in front of him, pushing Deku behind him protectively, their hands still linked tight as Deku tries to calm him down. He looks downright murderous, making Deku look tiny and fragile behind him.

“That’s not what it looks like.” He mutters.

“And I’m straight.” Aizawa mocks back.

“Wait, what?” Izuku cuts in.

“It wasn’t like that!” Bakucou shouts, because it _ wasn’t! _ Bakugou wanted to kill those guys, and Deku was just barely holding him back by the scruff of his neck so that he wouldn’t get thrown in solitary and left to wallow until being sent into the arena. The picture makes it look like he’s...he’s... _ protecting _ this asshole! He _ wasn’t, _if anything Deku was protecting hi-

He shuts down that line of thinking like a steel door slamming over his thoughts, catching the tail end of the announcer saying- “Interviews with the loved ones of these two bright young boys only confirm our suspicions.”

“Is that your mom!?” Deku gasps. 

The old hag is suddenly on screen, dressed up for the first time in years, old cardigan of Dad’s over a camisole and knee length skirt. She looks clean, no soot from the mines clinging to her hair. She’s also got enough makeup on her face to make her sneeze.

“Oof, she’s hot.” Mirko wolf whistles. “That’s a MILF if I’ve ever seen one.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Bakugou gags, Mirko roaring with laughter.

“I’m going to assume that’s Mrs. Midoriya as well.” Aizawa says dryly. 

“She looks like Izucchan with a wig!” Midnight coos.

Inko is awkwardly sitting next to Mitsuku, still dressed in her baking apron, fidgeting slightly. Mitsuki not-so-subtly stomps on her toe, making her yelp and stop moving.

A question is asked off screen: “Mrs. Bakugou, Mrs. Midoriya-”

“Miss.” They both correct at the same time, Inko nervously, Mitsuki with a hard glint in her eye.

“Oh, of course. Ms. Bakugou, Ms. Midoriya, how old were your sons when they first met?”

“Oh, well they couldn’t have been much older than three!” Inko says, looking at Mitsuki for confirmation. She nods gruffly. “I remember the two of them playing outside all day, begging to stay out longer when they were called in for dinner!”

“The brat would throw a fit and climb up the dead tree in our front yard and refuse to get down until Izuku was allowed to stay for supper.” Mitsuki says, arms crossed over her chest. Inko giggles.

“He would drag Izuku up there with him!”

“Wasn’t he afraid of heights?” Mitsuki asks.

“Oh, he was terrified! But he’d do almost anything for his Kacchan!” Inko says.

Midnight shrieks. “_ HIS KACCHAN!?” _

“Seriously, is she single?” Mirko elbows Bakugou, who’s shaking in barely contained rage.

“M-maybe we should turn this off now-” Izuku lunges for the remote, only to get yanked back with a yelp by Aizawa’s scarf, his eyes bloodshot and glued to the T.V.

“No. We need to see what kind of damage you idiots did with your little stunt yesterday.” 

“Oh, calm down Shouta!” Midnight laughs, slapping him on the arm gently. “This is a good thing! We wanted to sell them, and they’re practically selling themselves!”

“We’re going for the ‘childhood friends’ angle, not childhood sweethearts!” Aizawa snaps.

“I’m going to kill you.” Bakugou says, completely straight faced, at Deku.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” Deku insists, arms still bound by the scarf.

The T.V is still going. “Do you mind my asking about their nicknames? Did everyone call them Kacchan and Deku?”

Mitsuki snorts. “Hell no. Katsuki would’ve pulverized anyone who tried to call him something so cute.”

“Izuku actually gave him that nickname because he couldn’t pronounce Katsuki!” Inko laughs. “He had a horrendous lisp as a child! I think Katsuki was just glad he didn’t have to hear him butchering his name anymore!”

“That is fucking adorable.” Mirko comments. Deku tries to hide himself behind his hair.

"They insisted on sleeping in the same bed when they had their little sleepovers!" Inko gushes. "Katsuki used to steal all the sheets!"

"Izuku snored." Mitsuki chuckles. "He woke the whole damn house up every night."

"But when I came to get him in the mornings, they were always cuddled close to each other, holding hands."

"Oh come _ on!" _Aizawa throws his hands up in exasperation. 

Bakugou steals a glance sideways, only to look away rapidly when his eyes meet shitty green, both pretending to be looking anywhere else than at each other.

He's just used to sleeping with Kirishima, okay? He's a goddamn furnace on cold nights and a giant cuddler and he...fuck, he misses him so goddamn much. Deku's just a body next to him so that he forgets how lonely he is. And the nightmares are terrible. Every night is another HD rerun of every fucking game he's ever been forced to sit down and watch, every death sequence he remembers waking him up gruesomely as it's reenacted on him. He can never fucking sleep, and yeah, Deku snores, and he drools, and he fucking talks in his sleep, but he's there to chase the monsters awake when he wakes up screaming.

Now that he thinks about it, the nightmares have started to go away. Just a little. He wakes up with drool on his pillow and stolen blankets and a scared hand clutching his. Grounding him.

He's able to sleep.

“They were glued to each other.” Mitsuki says quietly. “Katsuki used to...he used to say…” She swallows thickly. Bakugou feels his heart clench as his mother, the strongest woman he knows, who screams and cusses and can punch a man's lights out with a single throw, gets choked up on T.V. Bakugou hasn’t felt guilty for volunteering until right now, watching his mother try and stay strong in the face of losing the last family that she had left.

“Ms. Bakugou?” The interviewer prompts. Mitsuki glares. 

The picture on screen shifts to a shitty black and white photograph of the two of them when they were 5, Bakugou proudly creating sparks in his hands while Deku stared with wide eyed delight.

“He used to say that someday he was gonna win the games, and move to Victors Village with Izuku. He said he was gonna be a hero.”

Inko squeezes her hands into her apron, tears welling up in her eyes. “I-I-Izuku used to say the same thing. They wanted to be Victors. Together.”

“Why’re our brats so fucking stupid?” Mitsuki growls.

That’s when the interview switches again, clearly cutting his old hag off before she started screaming and fighting the cameraman.

Kirishima is dressed in his reaping clothes, (the only nice clothes he owns,) sitting awkwardly on a stepstool in the kitchen, hands hardened nervously in his lap.

“You’re Katsuki’s brother, right?”

Deku gasps, and Bakugou’s eyes go wide.

“Uh...yes?” Kirishima says awkwardly.

“What the shit?” Bakugou snaps.

Aizawa sighs. “We’re trying to sell you guys as best friends. Kirishima would get in the way of that.”

“We do this all the time darling!” Midnight says off handedly. “Tweaking the truth for the greater good. Besides, he’s _ basically _your brother, isn’t he?”

“We-we don’t even _ look _alike!” Bakugou splutters.

“You’ve both got red eyes, if anyone asks we’ll say he takes after your dad.”

Bakugou’s fists clench. “Does the Capitol lie about everything?”

“Pretty much.” Aizawa grunts.

“What did it feel like, hearing your brother’s name get announced from the cup?”

Bakugou’s stomach plummets down into his shoes.

He whips his head back to Aizawa, refusing to look at the T.V, to see Ei’s face right now, no matter how much he misses him. "How dare you."

"I don't pick the interview questions." Aizawa sighs. "You've seen the games before, kid. You know they pull on heartstrings."

Bakugou clenches his jaw when he hears Ei's voice, weak and uncomfortable, drift over from the T.V. "A-at first, I thought I was dreaming. It was like the entire world just got ripped out from under me and I was left free falling in midair."

"I know the feeling." Deku mutters, eyes glued to the screen.

Kirishima clears his throat. "Kat's always taken care of me. I'm...I'm useless, honestly. My quirk isn't that impressive, a-and I'm not smart like him or anything. Well, I guess I'm better at talking to people." He laughs nervously, that tinkling sound like sunshine making Bakugou clench his fists tight. God, he misses him. He misses Racoon Eyes and Soy Sauce and Dunce Face. "But he showed me how to be strong. He's built my confidence so much, forced me to find _ value _in m-myself."

Bakugou finally looks back at the screen. Ei's biting his lip, shoulders hunched so that his black hair hangs low over his eyes. "He makes me feel strong. Like my quirk is more than just some toughened skin, like I'm unbreakable. I love him like a...he's my brother. I love my brother."

"If you love him so much, why didn't you volunteer for him?"

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?"

Bakugou whips his head around, shocked, to see Deku standing up, looking furiously at the screen.

"I _ just _said I don't pick the questions-"

"YOU COULD'VE SAID SOMETHING!" Bakugou yells.

"YEAH!" Deku screams back. "KIRISHIMA KUN DIDN'T DO ANYTHING WRONG!"

"I..." Kirishima flinches, looking like he'd just been slapped. "I didn't-I didn't think-"

"Will you boys calm down? This is _ grea _t media coverage-" Midnight begins, but Mirko throws a pillow in her face, effectively cutting her off.

There are tears prickling at the corners of Ei's big red eyes, and Bakugou feels his heart clench painfully.

"I wanted to." He whispers, eyes wide. "But I couldn't move. It's like I was frozen, like my legs were glued to the floor. I _ wanted _to."

"I didn't want you to." Bakugou whispers. God, what would he have done? He couldn't volunteer for two fucking people! He couldn't lose them both-

No. He's not going down that road. He's not fucking thinking about it.

"Even when it mattered most, I'm still just-just _ weak _ ." Ei says, voice thick, trying to talk past the tears clouding his vision. Bakugou is suddenly slammed with regret, remembering yelling at Kirishima to stop crying, that it's unmanly, that it'll get him _ killed _someday. He thinks of every mean thing he ever did to his best friend, every cruel word and thoughtless remark, every time Ei sought affection and he rejected it. Everything he didn't say.

And now he would never have the chance.

"My hero is Crimson Riot." Kirishima says, fists clenching in his nice dress pants, creasing the ironed out fabric. "He's the manliest Victor that ever won the games. A-and his quirk is a lot like mine, too. I remember when I was a kid, he gave an interview, talking about another tribute he couldn't save."

"Where's this kid going with this." Midnight mutters.

"Shush." Mirko snaps.

"He says that he lives every day to make up for that life. Because That's what manliness means." Kirishima looks up, finally, straight into the camera, face hardened more than Bakugou has ever seen it, eyes wild and bright and Bakugou feels it take his breath away. "That's what Chivalry means to me. A life without regret." 

"For the rest of my life, I'll live every day making it up to you, bro." The tears finally fall, but it's the manliest thing Bakugou's ever seen. "Just come b-back home, and I'll make it up to you."

"Aw shit." Aizawa murmurs.

"What? This is _ great _stuff!" Midnight whips her head around, tears messing up her pretty mascara. "He's the tragic little brother urging his nissan to come home!" Mirko blows her nose loudly into a tissue.

"Yeah, and now the media is gonna run with this _ unbreakable _ bond between two brothers, and the childhood friends angle is gonna get overshadowed." Aizawa stumbles over to the bar, scraping crystal tumblrs across the counter top and pouring an ungodly concoction of whiskey and cotton candy Vodka into the chavante glass.He takes a giant gulp. "We're fucked."

"Oh, calm down, drama queen!" Midnight waves her hand daintily, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with an embroidered hanky. "We did fantastic! You better suck the soul out of Hitoshi's dick when you see him."

"WHAT!?" Both Bakugou and Deku scream. Aizawa doesn't even look at them, just grabs the Vodka and starts chugging straight from the bottle.

"You're trading s-sexual favors for interviews?" Deku squeaks.

"For someone who apparently fucked Bakugou, you're a real prude." Mirko pipes up.

"WHA-HE DIDN'T- WHY AM I THE BOTTOM!?" Bakugou yells, face red. Deku pushes his face into a blue silk pillow and screams.

Mirko just quirks an eyebrow at him and says "Oh, _ honey _."

"And who the hell is Hitoshi!?"

"Do you mean..._ Yamada Hitoshi!?" _Deku squeals, excitement briefly clouding the embarrassment on his face. 

"Yes, Yamada Hitoshi!" Midnight grins. "They would've interviewed your families anyway, but he's the reason our teams were able to go in and falsify little Kirishima's documents."

"Anyone wanna tell me who's dick our teacher sucked?" Bakugou cuts in.

"I didn't actually suck his dick." Aizawa snaps.

"Yeah, and I didn't get my dick snipped off for a pussy." Mirko snorts.

"Wai- you know what, I don't give a shit and you're still a cunt." Bakugou says.

"Cheers bro I'll drink to that." She tilts a glass of champagne at him. (Where the hell did she get that!?)

"Hitoshi sensei is Present Mic." Deku says.

Bakugou blinks. "Are you telling me that the face of tributes is sleeping with you?"

"He's _ not- _ugh. He's a friend, okay?" Aizawa swivels on his stool to face the couch. The bags under his eyes look deeper somehow. "He won like two years after me, and during the tour of Panem he stayed in my place because I was the only person who lived in Victors Village.

"And they had wild, kinky hate sex." Midnight pipes up.

"Fuck off for three seconds, maybe?" Aizawa says.

"Mic's a loud mouth, but he's actually a really sweet guy." Mirko says, sipping her champaign. "He keeps the attention on him so that you kids can get a break every now and then."

"And he's the reason we now have a guaranteed win on our hands!" Midnight gushes, toasting Mirko with a glass of red wine.

"Where are you guys getting this shit." Bakugou grumbles.

Before anyone can answer, however, the announcer comes back on, drawing their attention back to the T.V. "I just have one last question for you, Eijirou."

"Sure, man." Ei says.

"How exactly would you describe the relationship between your brother and Izuku Midoriya?"

"Oh no." Bakugou says.

"What? Why oh no?" Aizawa snaps, stumbling back over to the couches. "Why oh no!?"

"Shitty hair's a fucking idiot, that's why oh no!" Bakugou snaps. "He doesn't goddamn think before he speaks, that's why he can pull on your goddamn heartstrings one minute and make you wanna claw your eyeballs out the next! I once asked him to grab us a table at the market, and he literally _ grabbed a table _and started running!"

"I heard about that." Deku says unhelpfully.

"Shut up!" Mirko snaps.

Kirishima looks down at his hands again, frowning slightly. "Those two...they've got a really weird relationship. It's as complicated as you can get. I...I don't even know if I'd call them friends."

"Oh, _ fuck me." _Aizawa hisses.

"Can't, sweet heart, I cut my dick off." Mirko murmurs back.

Eijirou continues. "Well, I know Izuku thinks of Bakugou as his friend. He acts like the guy hung the moon."

"Better." Midnight mumbles.

"But Bakugou is...he's so closed off. It's nearly impossible to get close to him. I know he's mean, and angry, but he does it because he's scared. He doesn't get close to people because he's scared that they'll leave. But those two...they care about each other. They've got something I don't think I'll ever be able to understand."

Aizawa sighs in relief. "We can work with this. Shit, that was close."

"He's not done, fuckhead!" Mirko snaps.

"They may not be friends, but they've got something so much more than that, you know? I mean, they volunteered for each other, for different reasons, yeah, but-"

"Wait, what do you mean by that?" The reporter cuts in.

"We-ell, I mean," Kirishima laughs awkwardly. "Everything they do is the same, but opposite. They're like the sun and the moon, sharing the same light at different times of day. They've got the same goals, but they want to achieve them in their own way."

"Okay, yeah, this is good. This is beyond good, we can do this." Aizawa says.

"I think Izuku would die for him."

"And there we go!" Mirko cheers, fist bumping the air.

"And Bakugou?" The reporter prompts. Izuku says nothing.

Bakugou feels his stomach fall out. The air in the room is suddenly very still. No one makes a sound.

Eijirou looks straight at the camera. "Bakugou would kill for him."


	8. Practical Exam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next one were originally supposed to be the same chapter, but it just got so long and convoluted that I had to split them up. I am telling y'all I'm on a ROLL here! Get ready for the interviews tomorrow!! Prepare to get ur minds blown.

"The private sessions with the Gamemakers are the most important moment of the games." Aizawa tells them, “criss cross apple sauce” as shitty Deku insisted on calling it, showing them how to properly make a snare. He's started joining them for training, correcting their form and insulting their stamina. "District by district. Midoriya, you'll be called first, then Bakugou. As usual, District 12 is slated to go last."

"Why is the score so important?" Deku asks, fingers getting tangled in the rope. "Once we're actually out there it won't really matter, will it?"

"It matters because of the betting pools." Aizawa says, correcting Deku's fingers and going back to his own rope. "The higher the score, the better the bet, the more likely you'll get sponsors desperate to get their money back."

Bakugou stops, staring down at his perfect fishing net. "That's fucking evil. This whole thing is Stupid! It's a goddamn popularity contest!"

Aizawa quirks an eyebrow at him. "Language. You wouldn't want to corrupt the youth."

Before Bakugou can retort, he sees a little flitter at the corner of his vision, snapping his neck around with a crack to catch Eri ducking around a corner. She peeks out and squeaks when she sees him looking.

"How long's she been there?" He grunts.

"She's been following you around all day." Deku says, concentrating on detangling his fingers again.

"For gods sake, give me that." Bakugou snaps, grabbing Deku's wrists and yanking him forward till they're sitting across from eachother, Deku's hands in his lap, detangling the rope. He purposely yanks too hard, satisfied at the bit back wince a blushing shitty Deku makes.

"Kacchan, that hurts!"

"Thought you liked it rough, nerd." Bakugou smirks, Deku kicking him in retaliation. "How the hell can you get tangled up this badly?"

"Language." Aizawa says tiredly.

"Oh, pardon me." He turns his head in the direction where Eri is very obviously hiding, and screams "_ DICK!" _

He hears a joyful giggle, followed by sushing.

"...Is that purple haired bastard there, too?"

"Yep. His name's Shinsou." Aizawa puts his rope down and picks up a new one, beginning the methodical knot work again. "He doesn't go anywhere without Eri."

"Hey, Zombie head!" Bakugou yells.

"Sup?" A voice answers back, from the vague direction Eri's hiding. 

"Stop dicking around and come make some goddamn knots."

There's quiet, before two heads peak around the corner, Shinsou's purple mane nestled on top of Eri's, her horn stabbing him in the chin. "What's in it for us, Blasty?"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" He yells.

"Aizawa Sensei brought us snacks!" Deku calls out.

The two immediately scurry over, holding out their hands expectantly. Aizawa gives them fruit snacks.

They're both still wearing those scarves.

"Um, Kacchan?" Deku asks quietly. Bakugou glares at him.

"What, shit head?"

"You...you can let go of my hands now."

Bakugou looks down and realizes, to his horror, that he already detangles the knots and has been gently rubbing his thumbs across Izuku's palms for god knows hows long.

Instead of shoving him away, Bakugou just tightens his grip in embarrassment. "Don't tell me what to do, shitty nerd!"

"O-okay." Deku looks confused but doesn't protest, hands flexing a bit in Bakugou's grip before going slack again and letting him stubbornly continue his ministrations. 

Shinsou fake gags. "Dude, get a room."

"FUCK OFF AND EAT YOUR FRUIT SNACKS!" 

"Language, Kacchan!" Deku looks fervently at Eri, who doesn't seem to be paying them a lick of attention, too focused on biting the heads off of all the fruit gummies one by one.

Shinsou snorts, sitting down cross legged next to them. "Don't worry, she's heard worse." He frowns. "Pretty sure she's _ said _worse."

"And whose fault is that." Aizawa asks tiredly, handing another packet of snacks to Eri when she's done laying out the headless ones in color coordinated order.

"I haven't the faintest idea." Shinsou says innocently. Eri giggles.

Shinsou and Deku start talking about some nerd related shit involving support gear, and Bakugou gets lost looking at Deku's hands. The beauticians scrubbed the dirt out of his fingernails and pushed his bitten off cuticles back, but no amount of soaking could get rid of the callouses built up over years of chopping wood in the back yard. His hands are so much smaller than Bakugou's, almost dwarfed in his grasp, fingers bony and square and rough. His body temperature runs a lot cooler than Bakugou's, and he's a bit worried about the sweat dripping off his palms into Izuku's, but it makes massaging his hands easier, in a gross way.

He likes how they feel in his own. He doesn't really want to let go.

Deku squeezes his palms, making Bakugou glare up at him, but the nerd just smiles brightly. "Wanna trade? You probably need this more than I do."

"The fuck are you on about, idiot?" He furrowed his eyebrows, but Deku quickly switches the position of their hands so that _ he's _the one digging his square thumbs into Bakugou's palms, and the relief surprises him.

"Your body is still getting used to the size of your explosions, huh?" Shinsou points out. He's tying rope under Aizawa'a instruction, wearing a little crown that Eri made out of the stuff.

"Don't fucking underestimate me, fucker!" Bakugou growls, tensing on instinct. He relaxes a little when Deku gently rubs his knuckles. "I'm doing just fucking fine!"

"No you're not." Aizawa says. "You're doing _ better, _ but there's nothing we can do about your physical acclimation to your quirk. If you were less _ reckless _ and more _ careful-" _

"What, you want me to pussy out and not use the best goddamn thing in my arsenal?" He growls.

"No, I want you to strategize instead of jumping in headfirst without a plan."

"I don't need a plan, I've got-" He stops himself, biting his tongue hard enough to hurt. He refuses to look at Deku.

"You've got what, your dashing good looks?" Shinsou says sarcastically.

"I'll kill you-" He freezes, body going slack. All the blood drains from his face. 

"Kacchan?" Deku asks, concerned.

"Looks like Mirio didn't drill it into your head hard enough not to _ give away _ your biggest weapon." Aizawa says sharply, looking down his nose at Shinsou in something close to disappointment. Shinsou just narrows his eyes and glares.

"I didn't give anything away."

"My student isn't an idiot, no matter how arrogant he might act."

Bakugou's stomach flips at that, but he doesn't have time to think too hard about it before Deku's grip tightens to the point of pain.

"What did you do to him." Deku's voice is deadly calm. 

Shinsou shrugs. "I haven't done anything yet, have I? Bakugou, tell us all what you were going to say before you cut yourself off."

He opens his mouth unbidden. "I don't need a plan, I've got Deku."

Shinsou smirks. Deku breathes in sharply.

It's like a vice grip on his body has been released, and he's on his feet before he knows it. "What the shit was that!?"

Shinsou shrugs. "My quirk.

He feels a tug on his shirt and glares down.

"What?" He snaps.

Eri looks up at him and tugs again.

He leans down, curious, and she reaches up to her tiptoes and wordlessly places a rope crown on his head.

"Oh look, we're matching." Shinsou deadpans.

"_ I _want a crown." Deku mumbles.

Bakugou blinks at her. She blinks back.

"Pretty princess." She says.

The explosion he makes sets off the sprinklers.

\----------------------------------------------

The Evaluations are a somber affair.

Every tribute is gathered into a waiting room, called in one by one, and exit through the other side. As more people are called, more empty seats accumulate. The silence grows louder and louder.

And Deku won't let go of Bakugou's fucking hand.

Bakugou refuses to look at anybody, tapping his foot incessantly as the anxiety grows into a tighter and tighter ball in his stomach. Shinsou is the only one keeping him from losing his shit, as much as he's loath to admit, cracking inappropriate jokes while covering Eri's ears that make Deku turn red and Bakugou cover his mouth to keep from laughing. Zombie head is somehow calm, braiding and rebraiding Eri's blonde hair, for all the world appearing confident and ready to go.

Eri has insisted on referring to Bakugou as a "pretty princess," insisting that Shinsou does too, and boy does he ever. Bakugou would punch the fucker in the teeth if he didn't risk getting sent to solitary for it. Not because his presence is comforting, or because he reminds him of his friends back home, or because he treats Eri with a gentleness that Bakugou knows is genuine.

Right before District 5 is called up, Shark Teeth stands up from his chair and walks over to them.

They awkwardly stare at each other for a moment, before he blushes and thrusts out his hand. "I'm Tetsu Tetsu, District 5."

Bakugou glares at the hand like it's personally offended him.

Deku rolls his eyes and reaches out, shaking it with the hand not squeezing Bakugou's in warning. "Izuku Midoriya, District 12. This is Katsuki Bakugou."

"Yeah, I uh. I know you guys." He says. He bites his lip, before puffing his chest out announcing, "I'm sorry."

"Uh." Bakugou replies, like a dumbass.

Tetsu shakes his head. "It was extremely unmanly of me to tease you guys! I let the rush of the games go to my head, and lashed out." He looks a bit sheepish. "I, uh. Also thought you were faking it, the whole boyfriends thing, and was angry about it."

"WE'RE NOT BOYFRIENDS!" Bakugou screams, making a few disgruntled Tributes shush him in annoyance. Deku goes red.

"Yeah right." Shinsou snorts. 

Tetsu continues, undeterred by his outburst. "I realized I was wrong after watching that interview with your families, and talking with my Mentor Fatgum, and I know we're all gonna be fighting in the games soon but chivalry means a lot to me too and I don't wanna win in an unmanly way!"

Bakugou gapes at him. Deku smiles.

District 7 is called over the loud speaker, and Tetsu jumps, looking towards the open door.

"Thank you." The Deku says. Tetsu looks at him in relief. "May the best man win?"

Tetsu grins, shark teeth on full display, and fist bumps him. "Yeah. I look forward to a manly fight!"

With that he's out the door, and Shinsou's got half his scarf stuffed in his mouth trying to muffle his laughter.

"Shit the fuck up, zombie head!" Bakugou hisses, annoyance oozing from him. "It's not that funny."

"It totally is. He's acting like we're going two rounds in a ring instead of facing a gladiatorial murder spree on live television."

"He's an idiot."

Deku frowns. "Don't say that, Kacchan. He apologized."

"Still an idiot."

Shinsou stops smiling, face going slack. "We're gonna have to kill him. Aren't we."

Bakugou doesn't counter the "we." He just tightens his grip on Deku's hand and hopes Shinsou's hands were tight enough on Eri's ears that she didn't hear a thing.

By the time Shinsou is called up, Eri's gone and the sun has set in the sky. Deku has stopped nervously mumbling. Bakugou has stopped tapping his foot.

They're the last two people to get evaluated. The last two people sitting in the waiting room.

“Remember what Aizawa said about throwing the weights.” The words come out of his mouth without permission.

Deku looks at him, a small smile coming over his terrified face. “I will, Kacchan. You... shoot straight.”

He nods. They call Deku's name over the loud speaker, and with a shaky breath, he lets go of his hand.

"Don't fuck this up." Bakugou growls. "Show them what you're made of."

"I will, Kacchan."

"You're quirkless. You have to impress them enough to show that you can still fuck shit up."

"I know, Kacchan."

"If you get below a seven, I'll kill you."

Deku looks at him for a moment. Just looks, jaw set, an unreadable expression on his face, and leans in quickly to give him a peck on the cheek. "I promise, Kacchan.

He's out the door before Bakugou has time to react.

Fifteen minutes pass far too quickly while he's sitting there, staring at the wall in shock, and then they call his name and he doesn't have time to think about it anymore.

He sets his shoulders back, and walks through the door into the gymnasium.

And he can tell he's fucked.

The Gamemakers have been there too long. Sat through twenty-three other shitty tribute demonstrations, drank too much shitty wine, and wanted to be done with this and just go home. Bakugou grits his teeth as they chatter amongst themselves, too absorbed in their own conversation to pay attention as he stands in front of the stage. 

He clears his throat once.

Twice.

He resists the urge to scream, repeating what Aizawa's been drilling into his head for days about _ sponsers _ and _ grades _ and _ not fucking up the evaluation, _and says "Katsuki Bakugou, District 12. Quirk: Explosion."

A few of them glance over. That's as good as he's gonna get.

He stomps over to the center of the gymnasium, looking quickly at his options. He notices a nicely sized dent in the wall, as well as a 100 lb weight sitting under it, and smirks to himself; Looks like the nerd might’ve made a decent impression after all. There’s a shooting range, but it’s much too limited. Standard bull’s-eyes and human silhouettes. There's the dummy used for knife practice, a row of weapons like spears lining the walls. The bows and arrows are beautiful, feathers dyed and cut clean, but they're not what he's looking for.

There, sitting on the table with the rope and knives, is a black pair of heat proof gloves that IcyHot requested for training. They can withstand any temperature, won't melt or freeze.

Most importantly, they'll insulate his hands so that he doesn't burn himself while using his quirk.

He pulls them on, flexing his finger in annoyance at the tightness of the material, and focuses on the knife dummy across from him. One straight blow is all he needs, a chance to demonstrate the full extent of his strength while also showing off his prowess. He stretches his arm out, back pulled taught, and explodes.

As soon as the first sparks release from his palm, he knows something's wrong. The gloves are too tight, the explosion too big, and he ricochets himself on the pull back so hard that he slams into the spear display, sending both himself and the weapons hurtling to the ground. He looks up desperately, hoping beyond hope- but no. His aim was off, the dummy left barely singed next to a giant burn melting the metal in the wall. He looks up at the gamekeepers, hoping the size of the explosion was impressive enough, but he's already lost the little attention he'd procured to the roast pig everyone's decided to dig into in the middle of the banquet table.

Bakugou's furious. His fucking life is on the line, and the fat fucks don’t even have the decency to _ look _at him, that all the work and pain and progress with his quirk is being upstaged by a dead pig. 

He grits his teeth, red shooting down his spine. This isn't it. That was a fucking fluke, _ it can't be over- _

He squats down, takes aim at the gamekeepers, and screams, "HEY, FAGGOTS!"

Without blinking, he creates a circle with his fingers and places it over his palm, releasing his quirk and sending a blast straight towards the Gamekeepers table. The ricochet sends him flat on his back again, pain flaring up his arm. There are screams of fear and panic from the table. By the time he gets back to his feet, there are 2 fire extinguishers rapidly trying to calm the flames erupting from the decimated pig. He can see the metal melting on the back wall, the giant crater in the center of the table where nothing but ash remains. By the time they've got the flames down, Bakugou's grinning like a mad man.

“Thanks for your consideration, dickwads.” He barks, sarcastically giving a bow and walking straight toward the exit without being dismissed.

\------------------------

"Now you've done it!" Aizawa screams, hands slamming down on the table.

Kacchan rolls his eyes. "Oh, come in! I had to get their attention somehow-"

"You've ruined everything! If you'd stood even a ghost of chance at winning, it's gone now."

Mirko, for once, is on Aizawa's side. "Do you have any idea what they could do to you? Arrest you? _ Execute _ you? Cut your tongue and turn you into an Avox?"

"As if you give a shit what happens to me, you're just pissed you won’t be able to dress me up for the interviews tomorrow!" He screams.

"What the hell were you thinking, shooting at the Gamemakers?" Aizawa asks in exasperation. "No, you _ weren't _thinking, you shot because you were mad you were being ignored and didn't give a shit about the consequences."

"How did they react?"

Izuku sees the edges of Kacchan’s mouth tilting up. “Shocked. Terrified.” He pretends to look thoughtful. “One guy tripped backward into a bowl of punch.”

Izuku laughs out loud at that, earning a glare from Aizawa. “What? It’s their job to pay attention to the tributes. Just because we’re from District Twelve doesn’t mean they can ignore us.”

“I'm gonna get a shitty score." Kacchan can't seem to bite back the anger in his voice.

“Scores only matter if they’re very good, no one pays much attention to the bad or mediocre ones. For all they know, you could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose. People use that strategy,” sighs Mirko. “But that only matters when it comes to quirk power, not using your quirk to maim the Gamekeepers!”

“Oh, if I wanted them dead they’d be dead already!” He screams.

“I hope that’s how people interpret the four I’ll probably get,” says Izuku sadly. “_ If _ I score that high. Really, is anything _ less _ impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple of yards? One almost landed on my foot.”

Kacchan laughs at him and grins this big bright beautiful grin that makes his eyes scrunch closed, and Izuku realizes that he’s starving. He cuts off a piece of pork, dunks it in mashed potatoes, and stuffs his face before he can do something stupid like kiss his cheek again.

Why, oh _ why _ did he do that!? It was a spur of the moment, stupid thing, but he needed the strength not to pee his pants in front of the Gamekeepers and Kacchan was _ right there, _angry and brave and beautiful, and he just...had to. He needed the strength.

Kacchan’s cheek was so soft.

“UGH!” Izuku chugs his glass of juice and pours some more, earning a knowing look from Aizawa.

“Go easy on the stuff, kid. I might have to cut you off.” He says sarcastically.

“Yeah fatass, save some for the rest of us.” Kacchan yanks the jug out of his hand, spilling some over the side in the process, and pours more into his glass. He jabs his fork onto Izuku’s plate and steals a piece of ham.

“There’s more right there, Kacchan.” Izuku grumbles, pointing at the roast pig in the center of the table.

Kacchan smirks. “I know. I wanted _ your _ piece.”

Ugh. Does he even _ realize _how stupidly cute he is when he’s acting like a brat? 

Izuku sighs and gets another slice from the pig, putting it on Kacchan’s plate, who ignores it and takes another piece from Izuku. It makes his heart squeeze.

Izuku jumps when he feels Kacchans hand grab his under the table, looking up in shock, but Kacchan’s still arguing with Mirko about aerial combat like nothing’s wrong. His thumb rubs gently across Izuku’s knuckles. 

Izuku wants to scream into a pillow for the next ten hours.

Kacchan holds his hand all through dinner, playing with his fingers just like he did at training, rubbing his palm like he did in the waiting room. Izuku eventually gives up on trying to eat and just sits in embarrassment avoiding eye contact with everyone and periodically squeezing Kacchan’s hand, who squeezes back. It’s nerve wracking to say the least. It’s like a dream come true.

When they were kids, Mitsuki would take them into the woods to check her traps for rabbits and gather berries from the bushes. They were told to hold hands at all times. Kacchan always insisted on standing in front of him, leading the way into the woods, marching and singing his little song about Bakugou the Victor and the glory of the games, Izuku always getting the words wrong and getting whacked with a stick for messing it up. Kacchan’s hands were so much smaller back then. Now, they’re huge, covered in burns and calluses, rough and strong and still agile like his mothers, still so thin and long the way they were when Mitsuki and him would play the piano together. Izuku wonders if he still plays the piano. If his huge hands could still put the notes together in the right order, so gently and beautifully. Hands that could bring forth bigger and bigger explosions, could destroy with not even a clap, could hold his hands so softly and possessive, secretly under the table.

Aizawa puts the “PMS on the back burner,” thanks to Mirko, and at 9 o'clock sharp they gather in the living room to see how badly they did. Izuku thinks the scores are announced far too early, like they didn’t put that much thought into it. After the typical announcement by president All for One, explaining the rebellion and fall of All Might, they begin. First they show a photo of the tribute, then flash their score below it. 

It goes by fast.

The Career Tributes naturally score the highest. Todoroki scores 10, and his fellow tribute Yauyuroza gets an 8. In District 2 is Inasa with a 10 and Cami with 8. District 3 is Tenya Iida with 7, which is surprising since his family is similar to Todoroki’s with each family member volunteering at 17 as careers, and Monoma gets a 4 which makes Kacchan laugh so hard he falls off the back of the couch. District 4 is Shirigaki with 9 and, surprisingly, Toga only gets a 3. Izuku cheers when District 5 comes up and Tetsu Tetsu gets an 8. 

“Who’s that Shigaraki boy?” Midnight asks, popping popcorn nervously as the scores roll out.

Bakugou looks at her like she’s insane. “Are you fucking kidding!? He’s part of the third generation of traitors!”

“Ignore her, they don’t teach the capitol about intergenerational prison sentences.” Aizawa says off handedly. Midnight and Mirk both look alarmed.

“Um, Tomura Shigaraki is the grandson of one of the 8 Traitors.” Izuku says. “You know, the leaders of the rebellion?”

“The whole reason why we’ve got the games in the first fuckin’ place.” Kacchan grumbles.

Midnight blinks in confusion.

Izuku sighs. “He’s Nana Shimura’s grandson.”

The girls gasp in shock.

“Oh my god, is it even safe for him to be in the same building as the rest of the tributes!?” Midnight cries.

“Shut the fuck up, we’re all gonna die anyway!” Kacchan snaps.

“He’s not actually staying with us.” Aizawa says tiredly. “There’s a reason he isn’t allowed to train with the other tributes. They keep him in solitary, just like they did with his sister and his father and mother and...you get it.”

“He lives in the prisons of District 3.” Izuku says.

“We get it, shut the fuck up and get back to watching!” Kacchan snaps.

With all the talk they completely missed the next 5 Districts, although Izuku did see Shindo’s name flash across the screen with a score of 8.

When Shinsou’s name pops up, Kacchan holds his breath, releasing it slowly when he scores an 8. Surprisingly, little Eri comes up with a 7. 

“Hey, what’s Eri’c quirk again?” Izuku asks.

Kacchan opens his mouth to answer, only to furrow his brow in confusion. “The fuck am I supposed to know that?”

“BOYS, it’s your turn!” Midnight squeals.

Izuku doesn’t breath.

His face flashes across the screen, and his score is-

“SEVEN!” MIdnight screams, overcome with joy. “Izuku, this is WONDERFUL!”

“That’s surprising.” Aizawa states blandly. 

Izuku feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. He can work with seven. It’s above average-

Kacchan’s face flashes.

Everyone leans forward in their seats.

“ELEVEN!” Mirko shrieks, and tackles Kacchan off the couch with a hug.

Izuku untenses as Kacchan screams and cackles at the same time.

“You got the highest score! No one’s scored an eleven in nearly twenty years!” Midnight screams, popping a bottle of champagne and spraying it all over Izuku and Aizawa.

“Guess they liked your temper,” Aizawa says, licking the alcohol off his fingers before pulling out his flask and taking a swig. “They’ve got a show to put on. They need some players with some heat.”

“If they want a show, I’ll giv’em a performance they’ll never forget!” Kacchan screams, slamming his fists together in a weirdly familiar way. He seeks out Izuku, grinning brightly like the sun, and Izuku is so overwhelmed with him, with his smile and his joy and the fire in his eyes...

It’s going to be okay.

It’s going to be okay.


	9. He Came Here With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More artwork from @theeggoman in this chapter!!!!! I am so excited to show you guys, the costumes for the interviews look awesome! There's gonna be another drawing with Shinsou's outfit too!  
Go check their art out on tumblr or youtube!
> 
> youtube.com/TheEggoMan
> 
> https://theeggoman.tumblr.com/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link for the official art: https://theeggoman.tumblr.com/post/619926721376960512/more-costume-designs-for-the-fic-in-the

The day before the games, there’s no training.

It’s a hectic all day affair of primping and polishing and Kacchan screaming as they wax him again. All the Tributes seem to be in panic mode while thier stylists get them ready for the interviews that night.

Aizawa interrupts them at around 8 am, while Mirko and Kacchan scream at each other because he won’t stop eating the cucumbers off his eyeballs.

“I have a list of offers from the other Mentours.”

Izuku sits up, wincing a little as his mud mask cracks. The number of chemical face peels he’s had to get through today left his skin red and puffy and this nutritional lotion is supposed to get rid of it before tonight. At least, that's what his stylist said.

"The fuck do they want?" Kacchan doesn't move from his position, lying on his back staring up at the ceiling with 2 eye shaped holes bitten out of his cucumbers. "Shouldn't they be worried about their own damn tributes."

Aizawa rolls his eyes. "They're extending offers of alliance for you."

Izuku gasps. "Kacchan! This is great!"

Kacchan curses and flings the cucumbers off his face, hitting one of the beauticians square in the back. She shrieks.

"Is that Icy Hot bastard one of them!?" He asks.

"If you're referring to Todoroki, yes. Endeavour has extended an offer of alliance to you-"

"But not to Deku."

"...to be fair, Endeavour hardly sent offers to anybody-"

"Tell him to suck my fat nuts." Kacchan lays back down.

Aizawa shrugs. "Okay, I guess a legacy Victor who can literally burn down the entire arena is too out of your comfort range."

"Haven't you been listening to the nerd? He doesn't use his fire."

Aizawa continues down the list. "Inasa and Camie have also asked for you-"

"Did they ask for Deku?" He demands.

"...Shigaraki and Toga-"

"_Did they ask for Deku?" _

"...Bakugou. Be reasonable."

"We ain't forming some murder posey with a bunch of career packs who are gonna turn on us the second it's convenient for them!" Kacchan yells. 

"Kacchan, it's fine, really-"

"No it's not!" He snaps at him. Izuku tries not to laugh at the green goop covering his face. "If they don't want both of us, they're getting no one!"

Aizawa sighs. "I guess that cancels out Tetsu Tetsu asking for Midoriya." He scribbles something on his clipboard.

"Tetsu Tetsu asked for me?" Izuku feels warmth blossom through his chest.

"Well it doesn't matter _now_ since someone is being a pig headed brat." Aizawa glares. Kacchan glares right back.

"Was there anybody who wanted both of us?" Izuku asks.

Aizawa hesitates, looking down at his clipboard. "It's not a very good idea."

"Tell us, old man!"

"I'm only 31."

"Yeah, and most people die at 40 in District 12. Out with it!"

"It was the Tributes from District 11." Mirko says offhandly as she walks by.

"Damn you, woman." Aizawa mumbles. 

"Eri and Shinsou?" Izuku looks at Kacchan excitedly. Kacchan seems to think for a moment.

"We'll take 'em." He says.

"Boys, Eri is twelve."

"Yeah but she scored the same score as me at the Evaluations!" Izuku points out. "And Shinsou can literally control people's minds!"

"He could just tell the other Tributes to kill eachother and we'd be home free." Kacchan agrees.

Aizawa's eye twitches. "That's not how his quirk works, he can only do it if they answer a question he asks, and we have no idea what Eri's quirk is. You'd spend the entire time protecting her and avoiding pissing Hitoshi off-"

"Hitoshi?" Izuku asks.

"Oh, so you're on a first name basis with Zombie Head but you don't want us teaming up?" Kacchan snaps.

Aizawa gets this weird expression on his face, turning his back to the two of them before Izuku can decipher it. "There might be...a conflict of interest. I'd rather our Districts just avoid each other all together while in the Arena."

Mirko snorts from somewhere behind them. "Is this about Mic?"

"Mirko, please shut the fuck up." Aizawa deadpans.

After some more screaming, an interruption from the peacekeepers, and threats of more waxing, Aizawa agrees to accept District 11's offer, with a neutral towards Tetsu Tetsu and a flat no to everyone else. After he's gone, it gets eerily quiet. 

"You know it's still just gonna be us in there, right?" Kacchan grunts. "If we have to, we leave them on their own."

"What!? But Eri-"

"Eraserheads got a point." Kacchan scowls. "She's a weak link. And Shinsou's not an idiot, he knows you're one too."

"I'm not-"

"You're quirkless."

"..."

Kacchan sits up and stares him down, daring him to disagree.

When he says nothing, Kacchan continues. "We're allying with them so they don't kill us and we don't have to kill them back. That's all it is. Zombie head knows that, he's not stupid enough to think we're all gonna be making daisy chains in the fuckin' arena."

Izuku hesitates before nodding. "Okay Kacchan."

"This doesn't mean we're friends. It means we're not gonna kill them."

"I know, Kacchan."

"If we see them in the arena, we walk the other way."

Izuku looks at him. Really, really looks at him.

_She's the weak link. You're one too._

_You're quirkless._

_Kacchan could've partnered with anyone in the arena but he turned them all down because of me._

He feels like he's been punched in the gut.

Everything he's done, he's done to get better, to be stronger, to somehow try and become Kacchan's equal so he can help him survive the games. But he's holding him back.

He's always holding him back.

He's the reason Kacchan's here in the first place.

"Hey, Deku! You listening?"

"...yes Kacchan."

Kacchan lays back down. "Good. Now help me scrub this shit off, I'm pretty sure my face is paralyzed."

\---------------------------------------

They gotta get dressed ridiculously early for this stupid goddamn interview, because Midnight thinks you have to "Become one with the dress" or some other bullshit. He ain't even _wearing _a dress! Not that Mirko didn't try and talk him into it in a conversation that ended with half her workshop on fire.

They did the same thing as the chariot races, collaborating on ideas until they settle on a hybrid Kimono from the Heian Period, something between a Suikan and Kazami. The Suikan was historically worn for hunting, which Bakugou likes, and the Kazami was worn by women of the royal court, which Mirko likes and Bakugou wants to scream about. (But, you know, compromises.) It's a nod to tradition and culture, something Bakugou doesn't really give a shit about but he knows his mom does. She would've loved being a fashion designer. The material is far thinner and sheer than it should be, made of dark red silks with golden explosions embroidered along the edges, and its softer than anything he's ever felt in his _life. _

Most of the outfit is the Suikan, honestly. The only real difference is the lack of pants in favor of long flowing skirts. It's not too bad, very easy to move in. He tests it out by hiking the material up and sprinting around the room to piss off the stylists.

Makeup is the same as last time, a pain in the ass. He's got red and orange and gold all over the damn place, sparkles in his fucking hair and eyeshadow and _lipstick _of all fucking things. He wants to scream but restrains himself so that Midnight won't burst into crocodile tears and guilt trip him into something even more ridiculous, like fake eyelashes.

Suprisingly, Deku's no where to be seen when they're finally down getting ready. He expects to see him, make fun of his outfit, show the nerd the special "surprise" Mirko added to his costume and watch him flip his shit. but the living rooms empty of his stylists and makeup artists, not extra fabric draped over the back of the couch like the chariot race. Instead, Aizawa's standing stiffly in the entrance.

“So what’s the schedule?” Bakugou asks, flopping down on the couch, getting lost in the giant pile of red that poofs up around him in the process. Maybe the nerd isn't done getting ready yet? Which doesn't make a lot of sense, Bakugou could've sworn Deku said he was just wearing a suit-  
  
“You’ll each have four hours with Midnight for presentation and four with me for content,” says Aizawa. “You start with Midnight, Bakugou.”

"Okay." Bakugou picks up an orange and starts peeling it, making himself comfortable.

"That means now, kid." Aizawa says.

Bakugou looks up, confused. "We aren't waiting for Deku?"

Aizawa's face hardens. "I'll be speaking with Midoriya first, as he's not yet done getting ready."

“We can fuckin' wait for him, right?" Bakugou looks up at Midnight, who just sighs forlornly.  
  
“Well, there’s been a change of plans. About our current approach,” says Aizawa.  
  
“What’s changing?” Bakugou asks suspiciously. "We're still goin' with the whole childhood friends bullshit, right?" Bakugou has a sinking feeling about All for One, what might happen if he catches on to the sham. "Where's Deku?"

Aizawa takes a long drink from his flask and sighs. “Midoriya has asked to be coached separately.”  
  
  


\--------------------------------------

Betrayal.

That’s the first thing he feels, which is ludicrous. For there to be betrayal, there would've had to be trust. Between Deku and him. And trust has not been part of the agreement.

They’re tributes. This was going to happen eventually. There can only be one Victor.

Bakugou wants to throw himself off the roof.

He probably would've tried, if he was an idiot who didn't know about the force fields that keep tributes from doing just that. If he was dumb enough to think this was Deku trying to beat him, thinking he was better than him, that he could _win _against him. He probably would've thought that if they were in any other fucking situation, if life hadn't beaten nearly all the pride out of his bones and forced him to realize that Deku's a self sacrificing piece of shit.

If Deku hadn't volunteered for him.

He grits his teeth. He doesn't need that damn nerds _pity. _

He doesn't need him.

He can sleep just fine on his own.

At first he wonders why Midnight's gotta take four goddamn hours with him, but she’s got him working down to the last minute. They go to the room that's supposed to be his that he hasn't slept in once since they got here and she teaches him how to walk in the stupid socks and tall wooden sandles combo without tripping all over his kimono. The shoes are the worst part. He hasn't worn high heels since he was four and trying on his mother's shoes with shitty Deku, screeching like a banshee when they got caught, and the Geta sandles are impossible to balance in. He can’t get used to essentially wobbling around on the balls of his feet. But Midnight runs around in them full-time, and He's determined that if she can do it, so can He, damnit. The Kimono keeps tangling around the shoes so, of course, he hitch it up, and then Midnight swoops down on him like a hawk, smacking his hands with a fucking _flogger_ and yelling, “Not above the ankle!” like he's some victorian dandy and she doesn't walk around in literal BDSM gear 24/7. When he finally conquers walking, there’s still sitting, posture—apparently he slouches and looks like he wants to kill everyone-eye contact, hand gestures, and smiling. Smiling is mostly about smiling more. Midnight makes him repeat a hundred stupid phrases starting with a smile, while smiling, or ending with a smile. By lunch, the muscles in his cheeks are twitching from overuse.  
  
“Well, that’s the best I can do,” Midnight says with a sigh. “Just remember, Katsuki, you want the audience to like you.”  
  
“That's not exactly my strong point." He grumbles, shoving sushi in his mouth to ease the ache of his gums from nashing his teeth all morning.  
  
“You're smearing your makeup!" Midnight cries."

"They'll fix it!" He snaps back.

After lunch, Aizawa takes him into the sitting room, directs him to the couch, and then just frowns for a while.  
  
“What?” he snaps.  
  
“I’m trying to figure out what to do with you,” he says.

"I'm going to kill you." He says back.  
  
Aizawa snorts. "That's probably not the best thing to tell Mic at the interviews tonight.  
  
“What’s Deku’s approach? Or am I not allowed to ask?” He growls. The shitty nerd slunk away before he could get a good look at him, skipping lunch all together to avoid being near Bakugou. He wants to kill him.  
  
“Likable. He has boyish charm and a sense of humor, whereas whenever you open your mouth, you threaten bodily harm.”  
  
“Fuck you!”  
  
“Please don't. I don’t know where you pulled that confidant, excited boy on the chariot from, but I haven’t seen him before or since,” says Aizawa  
  
“And you’ve given me so many reasons to be cheery,” Bakugou counters.  
  
“But you don’t have to please me. I’m not going to sponsor you. So pretend I’m the audience,” says Aizawa. “Delight me.”  
  
“Fine!” He snarls. Aizawa takes the role of the interviewer and Bakugou tries to answer his questions in a winning fashion. But he can’t. He's too angry, pissed with Deku and mad at Aizawa and he wants to scrub all the stupid makeup off his face and rip his Kimono into pieces.   
  
The longer the interview goes on, the more his fury seems to rise to the surface, until he's literally spitting out answers at him.  
  
“All right, enough,” he says. “We’ve got to find another angle. Not only are you hostile, I don’t know anything about you. I’ve asked you fifty questions and still have no sense of your life, your family, what you care about. They want to know about you, Bakugou.”  
  
“But I don’t want them to! They’re already taking my fucking future, they can’t have the things that mattered to me in the past!” He screams.  
  
“Then lie! Make something up!” yells Aizawa back.  
  
Bakugou screams into one of the fancy throw pillows, biting back tears, _not now not now. _“I’m not good at lying.”   
  
“Well, you better learn fast. You’ve got about as much charm as a dead slug,” says Aizawa.  
  
Ouch. That hurts. Even Aizawa must know he’s been too harsh because his voice softens. “Here’s an idea. Try acting humble.”  
  
“Humble,” He echos.   
  
“That you can’t believe a little boy from District Twelve has done this well. The whole thing’s been more than you ever could have dreamed of. Talk about Mirko’s clothes. How nice the people are. How the city amazes you. If you won’t talk about yourself, at least compliment the audience. Just keep turning it back around, all right? Gush.”

"I'm not a fucking barbie doll." His voice is too thick. There's no way Aizawa doesn't hear it.  
  
The next hours are agonizing. At once, it’s clear Bakugou cannot gush. They try with him playing cocky, but it's even more unlikeable than screaming that he's gonna beat Aizawa with a dead fish. He's not fucking funny, and he refuses to let himself be _vulnerable._ Aizawa starts drinking after hour two, a nasty edge creeping into his voice.

"You could try talking about your mom." He slurs. He's drunk off his ass. Bakugou's makeup is smeared to shit.

"Go choke on Mic's dick." Bakugou says tiredly.

"God, I wish." Aizawa sighs, staring at the ceiling. He's taken to laying on the floor, Bakugou halfway off the couch. There's a tray of artisanal chocolates being passed between them. "If you live, you should try it. Maybe getting laid will make you chill the fuck out."

Bakugou actually laughs out loud, so overwhelmed and mentally exhausted that this stupid, giddy back and forth bullshit is almost comforting. "Fuck, man. Can't believe I'm gonna die a virgin."

Aizawa shrugs. "You're not missing much. First times always suck."

Bakugou rolls over, shoving a handful of chocolate into his mouth and spitting out the coconut flavored ones. "What's it like anyway?"

Aizawa groans. "I am not having this conversation with you."

Bakugou pokes him with his foot. "Come on, old man. I'm gonna die tomorrow. Tell me about choking on dick."

"Are you even gay?"

Bakugou actually gives the question some thought, but comes up blank. "I don't know. I've never liked anyone."

Aizawa stares up at the ceiling. "I knew. I'd known my whole life."

They're quiet.

Aizawa's voice is far away when he starts speaking again.

"Two men lived on the edge of the district when I was growing up. They sold raccoon pelts and meat at the black market, let the kids play in their tomato garden. They were quiet, mostly kept to themselves. No one said a word about them and they didn't say a word about anybody else."

Bakugou knows this story. He_ thought_ it was just a story.

"Homosexuality was illegal in District 12. When I was six, some new peacekeepers got cycled in, the kind that can't get paid off. They raided that house and hung both men in the hanging tree while their garden burned."

Aizawa sighs and pops a chocolate in his mouth. "I was seventeen when I met Yamada. He won the year after me, stayed with me in Victors Village during the Victory tour. He was...loud."

Bakugou snorted. "You can say that again."

"He was annoying and obnoxious and _loud, _and he never left me alone. I kind of hated him." He swallows. "Then one night, I woke up to screaming. Turns out we had the same nightmares."

Bakugou tries not to think about Deku.

"That was the first time." Aizawa chuckles. "Like I said, you're not missing much. It was over as soon as it started, more uncomfortable than anything. I thought, that's that. He'll leave, and I'll never think about it again. But his train needed maintenance and he ended up staying a week longer than they initially planned, and we just... didn't stop. And it got better."

Bakugou wrinkles his nose. "You're drunk."

"You're the one who asked."

"I think I'm regretting it."

Aizawa chuckles again. "I do too." He closes his eyes. "I regret it every goddamn day."

Bakugou hugs the pillow closer to his chest. "They legalized homosexuality fifteen years ago."

"I know."

"...would the two of you ever-"

"We see each other maybe twice a year." Aizawa says, eyes still closed. "He works in the capitol as a propoganda TV host. I'm only ever in the Capitol during the games and the Victory tour. And I'm not gonna fucking work here."

Bakugou remembers Aizawa's game, that kid with the cloud quirk who got his scull crushed in.

"You don't wanna be like me, kid." Aizawa mumbles, on the edge of sleep. "You don't wanna grow old wishing for someone you'll never have."

Bakugou thinks of green hair and freckles. Of the games tomorrow. Of who's gonna win. "It's a bit too late for that."

Aizawa smiles. "I know.

\-----------------------------------

“Twirl for me,” Mirko says. He holds out his arms and spins in a circle. The prep team screams in admiration.

Mirko dismisses them after they fix Bakugou's hair and makeup, adding even more elaborate designs than before, and she hems the skirts in a way that he won't have to lift them to walk, leaving one less thing to worry about.

“So, all ready for the interview then?” asks Mirko. Bakugou can see by her expression that she’s been talking to Aizawa. That she knows how terrible Bakugou is.

“Aizawa called me a dead slug." Bakugou grumbles.

Mirko throws her head back and laughs. “God, I love that guy. Why don’t you just be yourself?”

“Oh, and blow the stage up along with Aizawa's not-boyfriend?" He scowls.

“I don’t think you're a dead slug." She smiles softly.

It's so stupid, but it makes Bakugou feel just the smallest bit better. "You don't?"

"Nah. The prep team adores you, the capitol is half in love with you, and you even won over the Gamemakers! We can't stop talking about you. No one can help but admire your spirit.”

Mirko takes his icy hands in her soft warm ones. “Pretend when you're answering a question that you’re addressing a friend back home. Who would your best friend be?” 

“Kirishima,” he says instantly. “But he already knows all that shit about me. Also I don't think calling Mic Shitty Hair is gonna get me any favors."

“What about me? Could you think of me as a friend?” asks Mirko.

Of all the people he's met since he left home, Mirko is by far his favorite. He liked her right off and she hasn’t disappointed him yet. “But we're always screaming at eachother.”

"We're not screaming right now, are we?" She smiles.

No. They're not, are they?

“I’ll be sitting on the main platform with the other stylists. You’ll be able to look right at me. When you’re asked a question, find me, and answer it as honestly as possible,” says Mirko.

“Even if what I say is horrible?” He asks in a small voice. 

“_Especially_ if what you say is horrible,” laughs Mirko. She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and he doesn't elbow her away like he usually does. 

They meet up with the rest of the District 12 crowd at the elevator. Deku's stylist is fretting over his hair, gelled back and curled like something out of the 1950's. He's wearing a dumb yellow suit with black pinstripes, some obnoxious red shoes, but he pulls it off. He looks...cute. "Boyishly handsome," Mirko would say. His freckles are on full display, dancing across his chubby cheeks and nose like angel kisses.

He doesn't look at him.

When the elevator opens, the other tributes are being lined up to take the stage. All twenty-four of them are to sit in a big arc throughout the interviews. Todoroki goes first. Deku goes last.

As Mirko turn to take her seat, Bakugou snaps his hand out, gripping it tightly, terrified. "Mirko-"

“Remember, they already love you,” She says gently. “Just be yourself.”

When they enter the stage, the crowd goes wild, screaming in excitement at the outfits and glamour. They walk single-file to their seats and take their places. Just stepping on the stage makes his breathing rapid and shallow. Deku waves with a cute little shit smile, ducking his head shyly. Bakugou stomps and glares. He can feel his pulse pounding in his temples from the noise and bright lights. It’s a relief to get to his chair, because between the sandals and his legs shaking, he's afraid he’ll trip. The cameras are flying through the air, getting every angle possible. A large balcony off a building to the right has been reserved for the Gamemakers. Television crews have claimed most of the other balconies. But the City Circle and the avenues that feed into it past the seating area and stage are completely packed with people. Standing room only. At homes and community halls around the country, every television set is turned on. Every citizen of Panem is tuned in. There will be no blackouts tonight.

Shinsou takes his seat next to Bakugou wordlessly, pulling Eri up into his lap. She's got a big puffy rose gold dress, looking all the world like a flower. Shinsou's got a comfortable looking black Yakuta, hair swept to the side and eyebags covered up with concealer.

"Pretty princess!" Eri squeals, grabbing Bakugou's hand. He's about to rip it out, before the crowd "Awwwwww's" at both him and Shinsou. He grits his teeth and holds her hand back.

"Yakuta?" Bakugou grunts.

Shinsou shakes his head. "It's a Montsuki."

"For weddings?"

Shinsou smirks. "They're also worn for funerals. You look great." 

"I will eat your family." Bakugou growls through his teeth.

"No, seriously. You're always gorgeous, but right now you're just...wow." Bakugou looks up, and Shinsou's actually _looking _at him, something soft in his eyes. "You could make an angel weep."

Bakugou feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Don't make fun of me, asshole."

Shinsou tilts his head a little. He's wearing some kind of capitol cologne, subtle but rich. "I'm really not."

Deku suddenly shoves forward. "Hi, Shinsou! You look very nice." 

Shinsou clears his throat and looks forward. "You too, shortstack."

"And Eri chan! You look just like a princess!"

Eri giggles, squeezing Bakugou's hand tighter. "Pretty princess."

Bakugou jumps when he feels Deku grab at his clammy hand, trying not to wrench it away in disbelief "What the fuck do you think you're doing!?"

"Trust me, Kacchan." He grits out through a blinding camera ready smile.

Before Bakugou can scream at him, Present Mic bounds on stage and starts the show.

Mic tells a few jokes to warm up the audience but then gets down to business. The girl tribute from District 1 steps up the center of the stage to join Mic for her interview. Bakugou does a double take at her dress, red and cut completely down the middle, covering little more than her crotch. She looks extremely uncomfortable, but Endeavour clearly didn’t have any trouble coming up with an angle for her. Sleek black hair, gorgeous eyes, huge tits...Bakugou has never felt more grateful for Mirko. At least his goddamn nipples aren't showing through his shirt.

Each interview only lasts three minutes. Then a buzzer goes off and the next tribute is up. Mic's loud and annoying as fuck, but he really does his best to make the tributes shine. He’s friendly, tries to set the nervous ones at ease, laughs at lame jokes, and can turn a weak response into a memorable one by the way he reacts.

Bakugou ignores the way Midnight told him to sit and manspreads as wide as he can, knocking knees with Shinsou who knocks back and Deku who ignores him. The Districts wiz by. Everyone seems to be playing up some angle. The wind quirked boy from District 2 is a ruthless killing machine. The freaky knife girl from District 4 is sly and elusive. Bakugou spotted Mirko as soon as he took his place, but even her funny faces and comforting nods can't ease the discomfort. Tetsu Tetsu is honorable and brave. The Shindo douchbag from 7 is charming and cheery. Bakugou's palms are sweating like crazy, but the silken Kimono isn’t absorbent and the nitroglycerin on his hands keeps creating tiny sparks. Eventually he has to let go of Eri for fear he'll burn her, but Shinsou grabs his hand as soon as he's free, squeezing it calmly. It's not the restricting grip Deku's got on him, tightening as soon as he realizes Shinsou's holding on too.

"Quit nashing your teeth, you sound like a meat grinder." Shinsou mutters out of the corner of his mouth.

"I'll bite your nose off." Bakugou snaps back.

"Kinky." Shinsou shoots right back. He frowns up at the current tribute on stage. "Is it just me, or can you see her nipples?" 

Bakugou squints up at her, eyes widening when he catches sight of it through the sheer material of her dress. "Holy shit. Is that allowed?"

Shinsou shrugs. "That District 1 chick had her entire torso out, so I assume anything goes."

Bakugou shudders in disgust. "Imagine dying and the last image your district has of you are your fucking nipples."

Shinsou covers his laugh with a cough, making Bakugou smirk. Shinsou stomps tries to stomp on his foot, but he's got the same single peg wooden sandals and just ends up making a loud clunking sound when thier shoes knock together, earning a few annoyed glares from the other districts that make both of them have to conceal their laughter with more fake coughs.

"Could you two quiet down?" Deku mutters out of the corner of his mouth, glaring straight ahead.

"Sorry," Shinsou says, at the same time as Bakugou whispers "Fuck off."

Shinsou presses his leg up against Bakugou's, and he doesn't move it.

District 11 is called. Eri whispers something in Shinsou's ear and flutters her way to Present Mic. Mic’s very sweet with her, complimenting her seven in training, an excellent score for one so small. When he asks her what her greatest strength in the arena will be, she doesn’t hesitate.

“I’m very hard to catch,” she says shyly. “And if they can’t catch me, they can’t kill me. So don’t count me out!”

“I wouldn’t in a million years,” says Mic encouragingly, if a bit sad beneath the veneer of lights and makeup.

When Shinsou's called, he freezes up. Bakugou squeezes his hand and nudges him with his knee. "Move it, zombie head."

Shinsou shakes out of his fear and walks on stage.

Bakugou's honestly too fucking nervous to pay attention to Shinsou's interview, catching snippets of dark humor and the revelation that he's an orphan, much to the sympathy of the crowd...And then they’re calling Katsuki Bakugou, and Deku's hand lets go of his.

He looks at Mirko, who smiles brightly, Aizawa nodding next to her, Midnight giving an encouraging thumbs up. He swallows and stands, making his way center stage. He shakes Present Mic’s outstretched hand, who has the good grace not to immediately wipe Bakugou's nitroglycerine sweat off on his suit.

“So, Katsuki, the Capitol must be quite a change from District Twelve. What’s impressed you most since you arrived here?” asks Present Mic.

What? What did he say? It’s as if the words make no sense. Bakugou's mouth has gone as dry as sawdust. He desperately finds Mirko in the crowd again, imagines the words coming from her lips. _What’s impressed you most since you arrived here?_ He racks my brain for something that made him happy here. Don't fuck this up. Be honest.

“The spicy curry,” He grits out.

Mic laughs, and vaguely Bakugou realize some of the audience has joined in.

“The one with the dried plums?” asks Caesar. Bakugou grunts. “Oh, I eat it by the bucketful!” He turns sideways to the audience, hand on his stomach. “It's a real pain in the ass three hours later though, literally!" They shout agreements to him and laugh. Bakugou reminds himself that the guy's just trying to help out and not to blow him up.

“Now, Katsuki,” he says confidentially, “When you came out in the opening ceremonies, my heart actually stopped. What did you think of that costume?”

Mirko raises one eyebrow at Bakugou. Be honest. “You mean after I got over my fear of being burned alive?” Big laugh. A real one from the audience.

“Yes. Start then,” says Present Mic.

Mirko, his friend, you're just talking to your friend. “Mirko's a badass bitch." Fuck, don't curse. "We worked on the concept together and she came up with this crazy as shit idea that went hand in hand with my quirk. You just gotta get over needing to breath to wear it." Another laugh from the audience. 

"Were the flames real?" Mic asks curiously.

"As real as diariah after a bag of flaming hot cheetos." More laughter, the loudest of all from Mirko. Bakugou's sweating his makeup off as Aizawa facepalms. "I'm wearing them again today."

As the audience _oohs_ and _ahs_, He sees Present Mic make the tiniest circular motion with his finger. "Twirl for us!"

Bakugou stands up, stumbles slightly on his stupid sandals, and slams his hands together as he spins. The reaction is immediate.

Sparkes start at the very hem of the skirts, lit by the mini explosion from Bakugou's hands, catching brighter and brighter as fire shoots up the sides of the fabric.

“Oh, do that again!” cries Mic, so Bakugou lifts his arms and spin around and around, letting the skirt fly out, letting the long sleeves engulf in flames with an explosion from his hands. The audience breaks into cheers at the little booms. When he stumbles and nearly falls over, Present Mic's right there to catch him.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you. Can’t have you following in your mentor’s footsteps!”

Everyone’s hooting as the cameras find Aizawa, who is famous for passing out drunk at every Capitol gathering he's forced to attend, and flips Present Mic off.

“So, how about that training score! E-le-ven. Give us a hint what happened in there!”

He glances at the Gamemakers on the balcony and smirks.

“You've seen my quirk, blondie. Take a guess.”

Mic laughs out loud."Takes a blondie to know a blondie! Details, details!"

"Lets just say I blew shit up and got their attention."

"Well, you certainly have our attention!" The crowd shouts in agreement.

Mic's face goes a bit more somber, leaning forward in his chair to face Bakugou. "Let’s go back then, to the moment they called your name at the reaping.” 

Bakugou swallows thickly.

“And you friend, Izuku Midoriya. Can you tell us about him?”

No. No, they don't fucking deserve to know. He can't just bleed for them, on fucking T.V, for all the world to see, and looking at Mirko isn't working any more because she just..she can't know. She wouldn't understand.

But maybe Eijirou. Maybe his brother could.

"I've known Deku since I was born. Auntie Inko-uh, his mom, was the midwife who helped my old ha-my mom deliver me. Deku was my first friend." He grits his teeth, conjures up Eijirous face, and he doesn't even have to imagine it, knows he's watching. "My best friend."

"Katsuki, I think what everyone would like to know is why you would volunteer even after he took your place." Mic asks gently.

Bakugou doesn't know.

"I...I just..." He squeezes his eyes shut, tries not to hyperventilate. Eijirou. You're talking to Eijirou. "I needed to protect him."

Mic nods. "You're very strong, young man. From what we've heard, you've been doing an excellent job so far."

Bakugou rambles on, doesn't know why but can't stop now, like a dam is being released around his throat. "He's so fucking small, I couldn't just _leave _him. He needs me, needs to keep chasing after me, needs to just _be _there."

Be honest. Be honest. He swallows hard. “I'm not...I'm not a good person. Never have been."

The audience is frozen, hanging on his every word.

“But Deku is. He's a stupidly good person. He's...he deserves to win." Bakugou feels an icy rigidity take over his body. His muscles tense as they do before a kill. When he speak, his voice seems to have dropped an octave. “I swear I'm gonna make him win.”

The buzzer goes off. The whole stage seems to jump, shocked out of the moment. Bakugou feels his jaw click. “And I bet he will. Best of luck, Katsuki Bakugou, tribute from District Twelve, The Boy on Fire!”

The applause continues long after he's seated. He looks for Mirko for reassurance. She gives him a thumbs-up.

Deku steps on stage without looking at him.

He's got the audience from the get-go: They're laughing, shouting out. He plays up the baker’s son thing, comparing the tributes to the breads from their districts. Then has a funny anecdote about the perils of the Capitol showers.

“Mic Sensei, do I still smell like roses?” he asks, and then there’s a whole run where they take turns sniffing each other that brings down the house. When Mic asks him if he has a girlfriend back home, Bakugou feels his skin crawl. Deku hesitates, then gives an unconvincing shake of his head.

“Handsome lad like you, there must be some special girl! Come on, what’s her name?” jokes Mic.

Deku sighs. “Well, there is this one person."

Bakugou grinds his teeth. It's that fucking whore from District 7 that he fucked, isn't it? Either that or he was lying about Ururaka.

"I’ve had the biggest crush ever since I can remember. But I’m pretty sure my crush didn’t even recognize me until the reaping.”

Sounds of sympathy from the crowd. Unrequited love they can relate to.

“Does she have another fellow?” asks Mic.

“I don’t know, but a lot of people are head over heels in love with 'em. How could they not be?" Deku chuckles sadly. "This person's amazing. More beautiful than anyone I've ever seen."

Bakugou seethes in fury. Fuck her. Whoever the fuck she is, fuck her. What's so great about her anyway? Ugh.

“So, here’s what you do. You win, you go home! She can’t turn you down then, eh?” says Mic encouragingly. As he's about to open his mouth for the next question, most likely about volunteering for Bakugou.

“I don’t think it’s going to work out. Winning... won’t help in my case,” says Deku.

“Why ever not?” asks Mic.

Deku blushes beet red and stammers out, “Because... because... it's a boy."

Bakugou sees red.

The crowd starts hooting and hollering in excitement, nearly overtaking the stage with their screams.

Who the fuck is it. Who the fuck is it!? That doesn't make any goddamn sense, Deku fucked a girl, he likes _girls-_

Shinsou grabs his wrist, jerking him back to his seat from where Bakugou had begun to rise. "Don't."

Bakugou turns his face back to the stage, and Deku lifts his head as Mic finally gets the crowd to quiet down. He stares forward, eyes hard and determined, sitting tall and proud.

"And he came here with me.”


	10. Out of the Frying Pan

Izuku has been in love with Katsuki since he was four years old. Before he knew what love was, he was already in it.

He's never loved anyone as much as Katsuki.

He didn't realize what it was until it was too late, Kacchan gone for good and never speaking with him again, with a new best friend and no space for a quirkless, worthless Deku in his life. 

The only person he ever told was Mellissa, too kind and brilliant and good for him, in a flower patch in the woods where Kacchan and he used to play games in the late afternoon, the sun shining off her golden hair in a poor parody of Katsuki's own. He told her because he might've been a little bit in love with her, another Quirkless girl smarter than he'd ever be. He told her, lying in her arms in the grass, and afterwards he came inside her.

“Oh, that is bad luck,” Present Mic says, and there’s a real edge of pain in his voice. The crowd is murmuring in agreement, a few have even given agonized cries.

“It’s not good,” Izuku agrees.

“Well, I don’t think any of us can blame you. It’d be hard not to fall for that young boy,” says Mic, except he doesn't look back at Bakugou, eyes looking somewhere in the crowd, trying to catch the gaze of someone else. “He didn’t know?”

Izuku shakes his head. “No, never. Not until now.”

He allows his eyes to flicker up to the screen long enough to see the shock on Kacchan's face.

“Would I be correct in my assumption that this is the reason you volunteered?"

Izuku looks at Mic, smiling sadly. "Kacchan's...he's a good person. He's my favorite person." Izuku swallows. "I'm gonna make sure he wins."

The crowd is screaming, uncontrollable wails and protests booming from the box.

Present Mic nods. "Best of luck to you, Izuku Midoriya, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours.”

The roar of the crowd is deafening. By the time he gets back to his seat, Shinsou has traded places with Kacchan and they're all standing for the anthem. 

The tributes file back into the Training Center lobby and onto the elevators. He makes sure to veer into a car that does not contain Kacchan. The elevator stops to deposit four tributes before Izuku is alone with his stupid thoughts and then find the doors opening on the twelfth floor. As soon as the doors are open, there's an explosion.

Palms into his chest. He loses his balance and crashes into an ugly urn filled with fake flowers. The urn tips and shatters into hundreds of tiny pieces. Izuku lands in the shards, and blood immediately flows from his hands.

“What was that for?” he says, aghast.

“You had no fucking right! No right to go saying those things about me!” Kacchan screams at him.

Now the elevators open and the whole crew is there, Aizawa and Midnight and Mirko.

"What happened?" Midnight cries in anguish. "Did you fall?"

“This was your idea, wasn’t it?" Kacchan turns to Aizawa, palms crackling red hot and furious. "Turning me into some kind of faggot in front of the entire goddamn country!?"

“It was my idea,” says Izuku, heart dropping into his red shoes, wincing as he pulls spikes of pottery from his palms. “Aizawa just helped me with it.”

“Yes, thanks Eraserhead! YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKING HELP!” Kacchan screams.

“You are a fool,” Aizawa says in disgust. “Do you think he hurt you? That boy just gave you something you could never achieve on your own.”

“He made me look weak!” Kacchan snarls.

“He made you look desirable! And let’s face it, you can use all the help you can get in that department. You were about as romantic as dirt until he said he wanted you. Now they all do. You’re all they’re talking about. The star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!” snaps Aizawa.

“But we’re not- we don't even _like _eachother!” Kacchan insists, looking for all the world like a terrified animal.

Aizawa grabs him by the shoulders and pins him against the wall.

“Who cares? It’s all a big show. It’s all how you’re perceived. The most I could say about you after your interview was that you were nice enough, although that in itself was a small _miracle_. Now I can say you’re a heartbreaker. Oh, how the boys and girls back home fall longingly at your feet! Which do you think will get you more sponsors?”

"And who's gonna hang for it if we survive!?" He screams back.

"Homosexuality has been legal in District 12 for-" Izuku starts

"15 years, I KNOW!" Kacchan roars, pointing a shaking finger at Aizawa. "And look at the good it got _him!"_

"Kacchan, please-" Izuku reaches out, but Kacchan slaps his hands away, looking terrifying and beautiful, covered in red as dark as his flushed cheeks, as angry as the fire in his hands.

"I never should've come here." He whispers, before stomping away and locking himself in Izuku's room. Mirko travels upstairs after him.

Izuku slumps against the wall, cradling his bleeding hands in his lap. Aizawa kneels down next to him and starts dabbing at the cuts.

"Is it always like this?" Izuku whispers.

"What, kid?" Aizawa grunts.

"Falling in love."

Kacchan left. Mellissa left. It's his turn to leave, too.

"...every fucking time."

\-------------------------------------

Bakugou doesn't sleep.

He's wrapped in a million blankets, pillows piled up like a mountain where Deku's supposed to be. It takes him about five seconds to realize he’ll never fall asleep. And he needs sleep desperately because in the arena every moment he gives in to fatigue will be an invitation to death. It’s no good. One hour, two, three pass, and his eyelids refuse to get heavy. He can’t stop trying to imagine exactly what they're gonna face in there. Finally, after hours, he's too restless to even stay in bed. He paces the floor, heart beating too fast, breathing too short. The room feels like a prison cell. If he doesn’t get air soon, he's going to start to throw things.

He refuses to think about it.

He _can't._

Bakugou doesn't see Deku in the morning. Mirko comes to him before dawn, and the nerd is already gone, bed cold where he was. Apparently his stylist came to get him early for something. She gives him a simple shirt and pants to wear, and takes him to the roof. Final dressing and preparations will be alone in the catacombs under the arena itself. A hovercraft appears out of thin air, and a ladder drops down. Bakugou places his hands and feet on the lower rungs and climbs, getting buckled into place by people in white uniforms. 

A woman approaches him carrying a syringe. Before He can protest, she grabs his arm and shoves the needle inside, releasing something while he curses and jerks his hand back.

"What the fuck was that?" He snaps, rubbing the tender skin. The sharp stab of pain is still there.

"Your tracker." She says simply, turning to the next Tribute and stabbing them in turn.

The ride lasts about half an hour before the windows black out, suggesting that we’re nearing the arena. The hovercraft lands and they all file back to the ladder, only this time it leads down into a tube underground, into the catacombs that lie beneath the arena. They follow instructions to their destination, a chamber for preparation. In the Capitol, they call it the Launch Room. In the districts, it’s referred to as the Stockyard. The place animals go before slaughter. Everything is brand-new. They'll be the first and only tribute to use this one. The arenas are historic sites, preserved after the Games. Popular destinations for Capitol residents to visit, to vacation. Go for a month, rewatch the Games, tour the catacombs, visit the sites where the deaths took place. You can even take part in reenactments. They say the food is great.  
  
Bakugou showers and cleans his teeth. Mirko doesn't do much with his hair, just dries it gently and leaves it to spike up. Then the clothes arrive, nearly identical except for minute specially designed enhancements for each tribute based on what their quirk is. Mirko has no say in Bakugou's outfit, doesn't even know what will be in the package, but she helps him get dressed. He's got a plain black t-shirt, cargo pants, sturdy brown belt, and a thin, hooded black jacket that falls to my thighs. It's probably the same for everyone. Bakugou's differences come in his boots, the same ones he wore on the chariot race, thick and sturdy and heat proof, and green and orange gloves that go all the way up his forearm, covered in a grenade like texture. They feel like the same material as the gloves he used in the Evaluations, but stronger. They'll help him with the kick back of his quirk. They won't melt from his explosions. They'll brace his arms from the force of his bombs. 

"There'll probably be something else in the cornucopia for you." Mirko says. "Don't run for it."

Bakugou knows; The cornucopia has food and weapons and supplies, but also battle gear; Last year it had a belt that could focus a tributes naval laser, and a gas mask for a guy who released toxic chemicals. People die trying to get their support gear.

The Quirkless always run straight into the woods.  
  
“Then there’s nothing to do but wait for the call,” says Mirko.  
  
They wait together on the couch.  
  
Nervousness seeps into terror as Bakugou anticipates what is to come. He could be dead, flat-out dead, in an hour. Not even. His fingers obsessively trace the hard little lump on his forearm where the woman injected the tracking device. He presses on it, even though it hurts. He presses on it so hard a small bruise begins to form.  
  
“Do you want to talk, Kat?” Mirko asks.  
  
He shakes his head furiously but holds out his hand to her. Mirko encloses it in both of hers.

A big part of him is worried about what he'll turn into. He might become one of those raging beast tributes, the kind who tries to eat someone's heart after they've killed them. There was a guy like that a decade ago from District 6 called Mags. She went completely savage and the Gamemakers had to have her stunned with electric guns to collect the bodies of the players she'd killed before she ate them. There are no rules in the arena, but cannibalism doesn't play well with the Capitol audience, so they tried to head it off. There was some speculation that the avalanche that finally took her out was specifically engineered to ensure the victor wasn't a lunatic.

He wonders how Fatgum got crowned after eating that Rappa guy.

A pleasant female voice announces it’s time to prepare for launch.

Still clenching one of Mirko’s hands, he walks over and stands on the circular metal plate. “Remember what Aizawa said. Run, find water. The rest will follow." He nods.

She tilts his chin up to hers. “I’m not allowed to bet. But if I could, my money would be on you.”  
  
“Really?” He whispers. He's trembling.  
  
“Truly,” says Mirko. She leans down and kisses him on the forehead. “Good luck, boy on fire.” And then a glass cylinder is lowering around him, breaking their handhold, cutting him off from her. She taps her fingers under her chin. Head high. Bakugou lifts his chin and stands as straight as he can. The cylinder begins to rise. For maybe fifteen seconds, he's in total darkness and then the metal plate is pushing him out of the cylinder, into the open air.

For a moment, His eyes are dazzled by the bright sunlight and he's conscious only of a strong wind with the hopeful smell of pine trees.  
  
Then He hears the legendary announcer, president of the Capitol, supreme ruler All for One, as his voice booms all around them.  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen, let the Seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games begin!”


	11. Into The Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACTION!

Sixty seconds. That’s how long you’re required to stand on the metal circles before the sound of a gong releases you. Step off before the minute is up, and land mines blow your legs off. Try and fly off with a quirk and your tracker shoots you full of cyanide. They're all forming a half circle around the mouth of the Cornucopia, a giant golden horn shaped like a cone with a curved tail, standing at least twenty feet high, spilling over with food and bread and weapons, medicine, clothes, fire starters, things you want, things you need to survive in the arena. Strewn around the Cornucopia are other supplies, their value decreasing the farther they are from the horn. A few feet from where Izuku stands is a threefoot square of plastic. Maybe it could cover you from the rain, while there are every purpose tent packs in the mouth. But what everyone's got their eyes on are the objects lined up on a table deep in the Cornucopia, 24 creations designed specifically to tailor to the quirks of the tributes. The support gear.

More people die in the first ten minutes trying to get the support gear than in the rest of the games.

Izuku blinks furiously against the sunlight, desperately looking around for blonde hair and red eyes, each tribute in their own concrete circle with a District number.

They were in a wide green field, too large to be really called a clearing, with lush green grass and dense trees ranging the far sides. It was perfectly circular, clearly artificial, and undoubtedly created for the Games. Since so much hydraulics and technology was involved inside the Arena (including the dozens of hidden cameras), the terrain itself was often specifically designed to accommodate it.

To his right lies a lake, clear chrystal blue. To his left and back, spars piney woods. Izuku might have felt relieved or triumphant at his prediction being correct if he had the time, but all he can hear is Aizawa's voice in his ear, telling him to get into the forest. Immediately. He can hear his stern instructions in his head: “Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others, and find a source of water.”

But he couldn't, not yet, first he had to find-

Kacchan. Finally.

He was looking straight at the Cornucopia, from nearly the other end of the Circle. If he'd been further to the right, exactly _opposite_ Izuku, the Cornucopia would have blocked him from view. But he can see his stance; Legs wide, crouched low. 

A shock of beautiful blonde with a look that could kill, and he knows.

Kacchan's going for the mouth.

\----------------------------

It’s tempting. So fucking tempting. Bakugou can see grenades and water cantines and swords and bags of apples, and it ain't fuckin' fair because he knows the Career Tributes always take the Cornucopia, divide up the spoils and horde the food. There, deep in the back, he can see them. Glorious, beautiful Gauntlets shaped like giant grenades, calling his fuckin' name with a great big 12 written on the table under them. It’s meant for him. He's fast, he can sprint faster than any of those fucks at school back home. This forty-yard length, this is what Bakugou's built for. But whats more important, the Gauntlets or the food? By the time he's scrambled up the packs and grabbed the weapons, others will have reached the horn, and a dozen terrified tributes at that close range? It ain't smart. So he should just go straight for it. Get the weapon. Get his Gauntlets and get the fuck outta there. 

He's positioning his feet, squaring his shoulders, counting down the last few seconds when suddenly he sees a shock of green. He’s about five tributes to the right, body turned towards Bakugou, shaking his head frantically.

The gong rings out. 

\-------------------------

Kacchan has murder in his eyes one second, and the next he's sprinting across the field towards the Cornucopia.

"YOU IDIOT!" Izuku screams, before lunging forward after him.

He could see Shinsou out of the corner of his eye, nearly at the tree line by the time Izuku starts to run.

He's not fast, never been fast. Kacchan's in the lead, jacket flying madly around him, and Izuku's coming up dead last. He sees a flash of purple and white hair duck into the forest. Izuku isn't gonna get there in time, they're all moving too fast, he can't _breath-_ He sees rope. He snatches it off the ground as he runs. The pickings are so small and he's so _angry_ with Kacchan. Izuku swerves to yank up a bright yellow backpack that could hold anything or nothing because now that he's this far in he can't just leave with _nothing! _A boy, maybe District 9, reaches the pack at the same time Izuku does and for a brief second Izuku's arm is yanked so hard he thinks it might've popped out of the socket. Izuku whirls around, red boots squeaking in the artificial grass, and then the boy coughs, splattering Izuku's face with blood. He stagger's back, repulsed by the warm, sticky spray.

He catches Toga's eye, grinning like a maniac and licking the blood from the knife she stabbed into him. She lunges.

A wall of ice erupts between them, sending Izuku sprawling flat on his back as Todoroki sails on his ice towards the Cornucopia.

"FUCKER!" He twists his head to see Kacchan overtaken by Todoroki, running even faster, before flinging his hands behind him.

There's an explosion.

\----------------------

It was fucking impulse, instinct really, but it fucking worked. The explosion is bigger than anything he's made up to date, easily the size of that Icy Hot bastards wall, and it sends him hurtling through the air. The problem is, once his feet leave the ground he can't get them back down, he flys too fast, _fuck-_

He lands on his arm hard, rolling back onto his feet and grabbing a backpack as he runs into the mouth, tripping over a barrel of _something _and slamming his chin against a table.

Against _the _table. He can't fucking believe it.

His precious, beautiful Gauntlets.

Before he can grab them, half his body is suddenly incased in ice.

"Nice trick, Twelve." Fuck, fuck, _fuck. _Half n' half ain't even in his line of vision yet and he's fucked, chills racing up his back from the cold. He can't feel his goddamn _toes._ "But you should've ran to the forest."

The ice starts crawling the rest of the way up his body, and he has time to shout before he's frozen solid.

It hurts, jesus _christ _it hurts. He thinks he's burning, ice seared to his flesh, blood pounding in his ears the only thing he can hear from the muffled sounds taking over. He vaguely realizes others have reached the cornucopia, screams and gunshots moving like they're underwater. He's suffocating, he'll die from lack of oxygen before the hypothermia has time to kick in, think goddamn it, _think!_

He feels his hands start to heat up as he panics, and the idea hits him. He lets off an explosion in each hand.

The ice cracks around him. He tries again, growing frantic as his lungs burn.

Too much.

The explosion rips a fucking hole in the side of the cornucopia, and he's free.

He probably should've thought that one through. 

\--------------------------------------

Everything's chaos. People are screaming, half the supplies are destroyed, bits of broken crates and metal fly through the sky.

Thank god. Kacchan's still alive.

Izuku runs, ignores the half burnt things laying at his feet and runs and runs. He tries to ignore the dead bodies strewn past as he goes, doesn't look at the tribute screaming on the ground with a giant hunk of the golden metal from the cornucopia lodged in her stomach. There are two tributes wrestling on the ground, two more breaching the tree line, and finally he can see inside the mouth.

Bakugou's punching someone in the face, covered in black soot, eyes red and terrifying. He's got what looks like a _GIANT _grenade strapped to his arm, with another hooked under his armpit, a backpack dangling off his elbow, a dagger clenched between his teeth. The career's are panicking, frantically trying to gather any supplies that haven't been destroyed in the explosion.

“Wait, wait for me!” Izuku screams.

Behind him, Izuku knows people were dying; Christ, if Shinsou can't outrun the tributes following him into the woods he could be _gone,_ but for Kacchan, _for Kacchan,_ he has to force himself to keep moving, to not look back, to not care--

Kacchan looks up, relief filling his eyes, before a hand reaches out to grab him.

"DUCK!" Izuku yells, and Kacchan does it, and oh my god the hand reaching for him smacks down on a half burnt crate and it starts crumpling before his very eyes, turning to _dust. _Kacchan surges up and headbutts the tribute, sending him staggering back, and Kacchan turns and starts running for Izuku.

\----------------------------

"WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU!?" A voice booms out, and Bakugou feels his head slam into the ground so hard he sees stars. Rather than let go of the knife in his mouth, he clenched till his teeth ache, kicking his legs out and sending the fucker sprawling on his back. Before he can get back up he's kicked in the fucking _groin _by somebody.

"YOU JUST DESTROYED ALL THE FOOD! ARE YOU INSANE?" Fuck, it's Monoma, and the fucker that slammed his head into the ground is getting back up, towering over the two of them like a goddamn bear. His head is splitting open and his dick feels like it's about to fall off. "I'M GONNA KILL Y-"

The voice is cut off, and Bakugou opens his eyes to see a giant fist the size of a person in the place Monoma used to be.

He doesn't waste time, doesn't bother wondering if he got squeezed to death or crushed, just sets off an explosion and blasts his way out, dodging a knife thrown at his front by that blonde freak. He feels the cold before it hits, rolling out of the way as a wall of ice blasts past him, looking back to see what used to be a person crumpling to dust by the freak that needs chapstick as Todoroki blasts icicles through a guy's chest. He makes it about twenty yards out, desperately looking for green hair in the chaos, and he's slammed to the side as the earth erupts under him.

\---------------------------

Izuku screams as the ground moves, as it crumbles and shakes and a giant cavern swallows two people, before he's knocked on his back from the force of it, losing sight of Kacchan in the process.

\---------------------------

"FUCK!" Bakugou screams, grabbing the foreign arm around his middle and setting off an explosion to destroy it. Except it doesn't get blown to smithereens, it just gets hot. Too hot. Hot enough to make him cry out in pain, and the arms are gone.

"BRO, CALM DOWN!" He turns and sees shark teeth and pure steel, a crack down the center of his face where blood is oozing out none too slowly. Tetsu Tetsu.

"You were almost taken out by Shindo!" He yells over the noise, getting quickly to his feet and holding out his hand. Before Bakugou can smack it away and blow this fucker up (Or take it and try to find Deku, fuck where is he _where is he WHERE IS HE) _Tetsu's blasted by some invisible force, floating nearly fifty feet into the air before being slammed down in a gust of wind.

Fuck it, it's too late. Bakugou squats and shoves his other gauntlet on, pushing his hands behind his back, and ricochetting off into the tree line.

He can only pray that Deku is in there too.

\-------------------------

Izuku's face is bleeding from the scratches of the branches scraping his face as he runs. He took to the trees after losing Kacchan, when three Tributes saw he was alone and started bolting towards him and he had no choice but to leave him behind and go. Only after his lungs are burning and his feet are aching does he stop, heaving on his knees, ears desperately trying to pick up any noises. 

He walks after that, freeing a knife from where it lodged itself in his backpack. He slides it into his belt, flipping up his hood to hopefully keep the stinging of his cheeks at bay. His costume was identical to the rest of them, the only exception being his bright red shoes and the hood, which had two bunny ears attached that flopped as he walked. He knows Mirko added them when his stylist wasn't looking, and it makes him start to tear up, overwhelmed and terrified and frantic. Eventually his heart rate starts to even out, fear subsiding and determination setting in, muttering to himself the rules of survival.

He needs to find water. Kacchan and him both. Maybe they'll find the same river somewhere in here.

If he's still-no. Kaccan's fine. If _Izuku _made it, Kacchan did. He doesn't entertain the thought any longer.

The woods begin to evolve, and the pines are intermixed with a variety of trees, some Izuku recognizes, like the Sacura, blossoming big and sweetly pink even though the season's completely wrong for it. Some are completely foreign, looming unnaturally tall and dark. Bio experiments most likely, genetically engineered to be bigger and straighter, no stray branches or sharp ferns, no flyaway weeds or mismatched ivys. The further in he goes, the more picturesque, like it didn't grow naturally, which he knows it didn't, but he can't help the annoyance the manufactured arena brings. He knows what the woods are, and they're hardly ever flat ground with grass and leaves. There's a million things that grow on the forest floor, and none of them are here.

He knows he's on camera. Not consistently, since the carnage is what people want to watch today, but just enough to show he's alive for the betting pools. One of the heaviest days of betting is the opening, when the initial casualties come in.

"I bet they lost a lot of money on me." Izuku giggles hysterically to himself.

It’s late afternoon when he hears the first cannons. Each shot represents a dead tribute. The fighting must have finally stopped at the Cornucopia, nearly a full day after it began. He shudders, hoping it wasn't like the 43rd Games where the careere's tied the lower districts up and tortured them for days until they died. The Gamekeepers never collect the bloodbath bodies until the killers have dispersed. On the opening day, they don’t even fire the cannons until the initial fighting’s over because it’s too hard to keep track of the fatalities. Izuku stops, panting, as he counts the shots. One... two... three... on and on until they reach eleven.

Eleven dead in all. Thirteen left to play. His fingernails scrape at the dried blood the boy from District 9 coughed into his face. He’s gone. 

He doesn't want to think about Shinsou.

He'll know in a few hours. When they project the dead’s images into the sky for the rest of them to see.

Izuku slumps down against a tree, exhausted. He looks over at his bright yellow backpack. He'll need to go through it anyway before night falls. See what he has to work with.

He drags it over and flips open the flap. What he wants most is water. Aizawa’s directive to immediately find water wasn't an offhand comment, it was essential. Izuku's seen enough Games to know. For a few days, he’ll be able to function, maybe some painful symptoms of dehydration, but after that he'll deteriorate into helplessness and be dead in a week, tops. Izuku carefully lays out the supplies, one by one.

Rope. The knife that Toga threw at him, lodged in the backpack. One thin black sleeping bag that reflects body heat. A pack of crackers. A pack of dried beef strips. A bottle of iodine. A box of wooden matches. A small coil of wire. A pair of sunglasses. And a halfgallon plastic bottle with a cap for carrying water.

He twists the cap, pausing when he looks inside. He flips it upside down. Nothing.

No water. He groans in annoyance. How hard would it have been for them to fill up the bottle? He's gonna Mcfreaking lose it.

No, no. He's fine. He repacks his backpack and starts looking at the trees more closely, feeling along the sides before he finds it. Moss. The direction it grows leads to water.

Twilight is closing in. The trees are too thin to offer much cover, more aesthetically placed for a television program than for any real protection. The layer of pine needles that muffles his footsteps puts him at ease, until he remembers how difficult it'll be to hunt animals if he can't hear them. And he's still heading downhill, deeper and deeper into a valley that seems endless. In another hour, it’s clear he's got to find a place to camp. Night creatures are coming out. He can hear the occasional scurry along the trees, a hoot from the owls, a russel of the branches. Hunting at night is dangerous, but he can't track like Kacchan, so he might have to. He smiles to himself; He doesn't think he's ever seen a Game where someone destroyed the precious Cornucopia, the hunting ground of the Careers. Without it they'll be easier to handle, less focused on killing the other tributes off and more concerned with what they'll be eating. 

Before settling down, Izuku tinkers with the wire and sets up a simple twitch-up snare in the brush. It’s risky to be setting traps, but food will go so fast out here. And he can’t set snares on the run. Still, he walks another five minutes before making camp, so if anybody _does _come looking he'll hear them with enough time to run. He picks his tree carefully. A willow, not terribly tall but set in a clump of other willows. It's beautiful, but also safe, with it's long branches and flowing leaves. It's a good place to hide.

He climbs up, sticking to the stronger branches close to the trunk, and finds a sturdy fork to sit. It takes some doing, but he arranges the sleeping bag in a sort of comfortable position, backpack tied with the rope to the branch next to him, belt from his outfit keeping him tied to the tree so he doesn't role over and die in the middle of the night. After he's strapped in, starts assessing the damage.

He's got a black eye. Half his face is covered in the swelling, purple bruising from it, along with the raised scratches on his cheeks. His shoulder is burning from when it was yanked so hard, and it's turning and ugly purple color but it's not sprained and it's not broken; he'll just have to carry his pack on the other arm for a few days until he can stand to put pressure on it again. Beside's some more scratches and bruising, he's fine. He hopes Kacchan is okay too, he took a lot of hits in the Cornucopia.

He's small enough to tuck the top of the bag over his head, but keeps his hood up anyway as the chill sets in. 

He lays there for a minute. Two, tops.

And begins to weep.

\-----------------------------------------

Night falls too fucking fast for Bakugou. After plunging into the forest, he blasted his way forward for nearly an hour before his arms gave out and he crashed to the ground. Thank god for the long ass gloves his costume added, otherwise he's sure he's be covered in blistered flesh by now. He managed to find a stream deep in the thicket of trees at dusk, fill up the cantines that came in his packs. He'd managed to grab two of them, along with a bow, four knives, some rope, and a tent. He doesn't plan on actually using the thing, but ripping the canvas up for more cover in the trees is gonna be a life saver.

The packs have good shit, duct tape and dried fruit and, to his disbelief, antibiotics. He snatched one of them from deep in the Cornucopia before he blew the shithole up, and it's so much better than the other one. There's freeze dried meals of mashed potatoes and meatloaf, rice balls wrapped in plastic wrap, clementines and apples and a water filter which'll keep him from shitting his pants from Diarrhea out in the goddamn woods. He sets up camp in an old Oak near the river, close enough to hear the trickle but far enough that if any fuckers come by he can blow them up before they take his fucking spot. He climbs up and hangs the packs with duct tape, pulling out the tent and cutting it into strips before tying two ends between two trees, bouncing on the branches to make sure they're strong enough, before plopping down in his makeshift hammock with a sigh. He takes off his Gauntlets, finally, to asses the damage he's down to his arms.

Without the fuckers it would've been a lot worse, but he knows he never would've used that much power if he didn't have them, so he's not sure if he should be kicking his own ass or not just yet. Peeling back his arm braces sucks ass. He hisses as the fabric comes loose, fingertips gently touching the purple skin. They're bruised up pretty bad, but nothings melting so he didn't burn himself. The fire proof advertising was a success, apparently.

He pours a bit of water over the cut on his leg, hissing painfully as the slightly raised flesh stings. That knife throwing freak managed to get him pretty good before he got the hell outta dodge. He can still walk, still run, but he doesn't want it getting infected. He tears off another thin strip of the canvas from the tent and ties it around the wound, having to stop and squeeze his eyes shut to keep from shouting when the pain gets worse. 

His balls have stopped feeling like they're gonna fall off, and he hasn't broken anything, but he's pretty sure he's got a concussion because his headache hasn't gone down since he got kicked to the ground. There's a burn on his elbow from Tetsu Tetsu, but it's not too bad. He thinks back to that gash in Tetsu's head, gushing blood between the cracks in his quirk.

He wonder's why he pushed him out of the way.

Bakugou's finally hunkered down in his hammock, hood on his jacket flipped up to reveal explosions that go out past the ears, (how he didn't notice that detasil when Mirko was dressing him is suprising, but he supposes the agonizing fear of death might have had something to do with it,) when the anthem that proceeds the death recap begins to play. Through the branches he can see the seal of the Capitol, which appears to be floating in the sky. Bakugou knows it's a screen, an enormous one that’s transported by of one of their disappearing hovercrafts, but it looks so real. The anthem fades out and the sky goes dark for a moment.

At home, it's not exactly mandatory to watch the games, but if you're caught _not _watching them by any peace keepers that like tho think theypve got big dicks and dominance, it's a lashing in the town square. The older he got, the easier it was to slink away to the woods when the games were going, coming back at the end of the day with pheasant for his mother, the screen turned on but the sound off on the television. He wonders where Kirishima is, if he's hunkered down with Mina's family watching the games, or if he went to the woods and is only now getting back home to bring Bakugou's mom a pheasant. 

Bakugou takes a deep breath as the face of the eleven dead tributes begin to scroll across the sky, ticking them off one by one on his fingers.

The first to appear is the girl from District 1, with the creation quirk. He's momentarily shocked; It's rare for a career to die so early in the games. Then Monoma from District 3. Bakugou feels something weird stirring in his stomach at that one. He didn't know that district 1 chick, but he knew Monoma. He forces it down, tries to focus on the death toll and not the coiling in his gut.

The district 5 girl who offed Monoma is dead. Both tributes from District 6 are gone. The girl from District 7 got swallowed by Shindo's earth quirk. Both kids from District 8. Both kids from 9, and the boy from 10.

That's it.

The Capitol seal is back with a final musical flourish. Then darkness and the sounds of the forest resume.

Bakugou breathes.

Deku's alive.

Shinsou and Eri made it, too. He can barely believe it, didn't even let himself think about it but they're out here, somewhere in the woods. Safe. They probably skipped the cornucopia all together. Bakugou sits up, grabs one of his bags and opens it carefully.

There, nestled on top, is the length of white scarf capture gear, and a weird looking face mask made of metal. Both were sitting on that table, right next to Bakugou's Gauntlets.

He doesn't open the other bag, but he knows what's inside; White gloves from District 12.

He's not sure what the fuck they're supposed to do, exactly, since Deku's quirkless, but he figured the Gamekeepers knew what they were doin' when they made them.

Bakugou's not certain why he took the support gear. Safekeeping? Preventing the Career pack from using them? He shuts down the whispering in his head, the small voice telling him to find Shinsou and give him the gear, fight together. He doesn't _want _to meet up with them, doesn't want to waste precious supplies and try and survive with two people who don't know anything about survival. Eri's fucking 12, and Shinsou grew up in a group home in the industrialized city of 11. Even if the four of them managed to get to the very end of the Games, that still leaves three deaths, and like hell is Bakugou gonna hurt Eri.

He doesn't _want _to find them. Because it's only been a week, a shitty fucking week of training and fighting and preparation for the Games, but damnit he _knows _Shinsou.

When it comes down to it, Shinsou's gonna do what he's gotta do for Eri.

Just like Bakugou as soon as he fucking finds Deku.

He's pissed that he hasn't found the fucker yet. Aizawa told them both to find water, and yeah Bakugou's quirk means he probably covered twice as much ground as Deku but the nerd _better get here soon. _Now that the anxiety of wondering if he's dead is gone, he's in survival mode, and as soon as he meets up with the shit head they can move on and work out a plan that doesn't involve hiding in the trees.

He knows they didn't actually _plan _to meet up, considering the fact that Deku just fucked up his whole life with a shitty (possibly fake) love confession, ruining the last night they had to strategize, but they'd at least _talked _about it before. Plus, Deku was calling after him in the Cornucopia, reaching out, and if they hadn't gotten separated due to the earth quake Bakugou's sure they would've taken off into the woods _together._

They were supposed to do this thing together. 

Not that Deku seemed to fucking care, going off and making shitty decisions without telling anybody.

It was a fake confession. It had to be.

No fucking way that asshole was in love with him. It wasn't even a possibility.

It's for the sponsors. Just the sponsors. Aizawa changed the angle last minute for some fucking reason and told Deku to say it. He didn't love him. No one did, Bakugou was an asshole, a loud abrasive fucked up asshole and Deku's a quirkless baker with freckles on his cheeks.

Bakugou rolls over in his hammock and tries to get some sleep.


End file.
